


Strangers and Angels

by BulletproofTrash



Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, John Winchester Being John Winchester, Light Angst, Pneumonia, Sick Dean Winchester, This is a very soft story, and then it goes back to normal again, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-12
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletproofTrash/pseuds/BulletproofTrash
Summary: Worn out, the boys stop at a remote motel to get shelter from a storm.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019070
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a repost from [Strangers and Angels](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2748108/1/Strangers-and-Angels) by user [reading](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/443241/) on fanfiction(dot)net
> 
> Credits to this work and all the works in this series belong to them.

_"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2_

* * *

Dean Winchester had a theory. It was a working theory admittedly, but he could see it more and more clearly as the days passed and he was fairly confident of it:

_Every male of the species has been marked by something, seen only by the female of the species, that provides an insight into the male's identity from a female perspective._

Sam, for instance, clearly had a marker that said—apparently in flashing neon—"poor, motherless boy."

All the women Dean had ever seen interact with his little brother treated him as if they could tell, instinctively, that he'd never really had a mother. Even the girls who wanted to get in his pants wooed him with gentle, knowing eyes and baked goods.

Dean, on the other hand, was fairly confident that his tag said "smartass."

If he'd ever been marked or identified by his lack of maternal influence, it had long been overshadowed by his tendency to speak first and think later. By the time Dean had reached the age of 12, there'd been something in his nature—or perhaps it was his nurture—that forced away, rejected the attempts of any woman to mother him.

_You're not my mother_ , said his heart, even as his mouth grinned, and he used charm and misdirection and sarcasm to maintain safe distance.

_You're not my mother_ , said his head, even as his heart ached, and he longed for the warmth and attention lavished on Sam.

_You're not my mother_.

* * *

"There."

Sam pointed down the road, and Dean squinted through the wet windshield, trying to make out what Sam saw through the rain that was lashing the car, making the wipers essentially useless.

"Where?"

"On the right." Out of habit, Sam ignored the bite to his brother's voice. He, too, was straining to see through the pitch black and the rain. "Half a mile, maybe?"

Dean wiped a hand over his face, grimacing at the gritty, slimy feel of the mud that coated him head to toe, trying to get it out of his eyes.

"Goddamn it."

The look Sam sent him was amused, and sympathetic. Dean didn't understand why Sam wasn't as pissed as he was at the moment. Because Sam was just as caked with filth as his brother. But Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, perfectly at ease, dripping muddy, stinking water all over the floor of … Dean gritted his teeth. If he thought about how long it was going to take him to get the car back in good shape, his head would explode.

"Goddamn it!" He said it again, more forcefully.

Sam looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek. _If he freakin' laughs..._

"Wait!" Now Dean had seen the light Sam had been trying to show him. He slowed down, peering out the passenger side window as they came to a stop.

_Vacancy._

The brothers exchanged glances. It didn't look as questionable as some of the places they'd stayed for all the fact that it was sitting on the side of a deserted road out in the middle of nowhere.

The long, low building was fairly well lit and there were maybe 10 cars parked in front of doors that were painted bright green. Dean figured there were probably 12 units along with what looked to be a diner.

He raised an eyebrow at his brother. _What do you think?_

Sam shrugged. _Do we have any other options?_

Dean pulled in.

* * *

Dean ran abruptly into Sam's back when, instead of entering the lobby after he'd opened the door, Sam stopped on the threshold, peering in.

"Dude!" Dean tried to push past his brother wanting out of the rain and the wind.

Not responding in words, Sam used his elbow to shove Dean out, actually pulling the door as shut as he could, the glass a barrier between the two men. Startled and more than a little mad, Dean reached for the handle of the door, meaning to jerk it open and shove back. But before he could put his plan into action, he caught sight of the woman behind the desk in the lobby.

She was in her mid to late 40s, dark hair sprinkled with gray and pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her right hand had dropped behind the counter when the door opened, and Dean had little doubt that she'd put it on some sort of weapon. Her smile when she looked at the men on her doorstep was welcoming, but wary.

Dean understood suddenly why Sam had shut him out, and he resigned himself to more time in the cold. The awning over the door stopped the worst of the rain, but the sharp wind carried dampness and gusts of wet with it, and Dean hunched into his coat. He stood next to the crack in the door, trying to absorb some of the heat that was escaping, stamping his feet while Sam worked his magic.

In the time the boys had been working together again, they'd fallen instinctively into the routine they'd just begun to perfect when Sam left. There were certain people Sam led with and certain people Dean led with. Cautious, middle-aged women with tired eyes and pleasant, maternal faces were all Sam.

"Hi."

Sam said it softly, smiling his best "I'm a nice kid, not a deranged serial killer" smile hesitantly at the woman behind the counter. The door knocked against his heels as he stood outside, and Dean could just hear the conversation

"Your sign said you have a vacancy?"

The woman's eyes flicked toward the road, and Dean saw recognition and weariness settle on her face. She sighed.

"I forgot to turn it off."

Dean felt his face fall, and he saw Sam's shoulders sag in defeat. While neither of them had been enthusiastic about the slightly rundown looking place, it had been shelter after a long, hard night. Dean swallowed back an uncomfortable feeling of depression at the thought of getting back on the road.

"Oh. Well. Sorry to have bothered you." Dean could hear the disappointment and exhaustion in his younger brother's quiet voice.

Sam backed up, the bell on the door jangling, discordantly merry. Dean had already turned toward the car.

"Wait."

Sam stopped.

The woman was standing up now, rubbing a tired hand over her face.

"Why don't y'all come in for a minute? Let me think."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

They stepped hesitantly into the room, stopping just inside the door. Dean watched the woman's eyes widen as she finally got a real look at their filthy, sodden appearance.

"Our, uh, car got stuck in the mud a few miles back," Sam offered.

The woman's tired face began to transform, starting with her eyes. Dean saw the glint of amusement there, and her hand came up to cover her mouth.

"Did it now?" she said, the faintest hint of laughter rippling under the surface.

Dean really wasn't in the mood, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sheepish grin start on Sam's face.

"We got it out; but it was touch and go there for awhile."

"Clearly."

She was smiling fully now, the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes deepening. She shook her head, and the smile faded somewhat as she watched them, considering for a long moment. She seemed to come to a decision.

"I do have a room. It just hasn't been cleaned yet."

"Aunt Jo?"

A young male voice behind her turned the woman around. A boy Dean would guess to be around 14 stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorjamb, the other out of sight. He wasn't looking at his aunt; his eyes were fixed on the two strangers in front of him.

"Jacob, we have a couple of new guests."

The boy's expression remained guarded, and he shifted slightly. Dean wondered if the kid was getting a better grip on the shotgun Dean was pretty sure he was holding.

"We don't have any rooms."

"You and Michael can clean out 11 before you go to bed. Since you're up."

The surprisingly adult look on the boy's face was abruptly replaced by one familiar to parents of teenagers the world over—affronted indignation.

"But..." His voice cracked in outrage.

"It won't take you that long," his aunt said, unconcerned. Ignoring the muttering behind her and the angry smack of a hand on the door as the kid turned to go, she looked at Sam and Dean.

"Why don't y'all wait in the kitchen?" She moved toward the swinging door her nephew had disappeared behind.

"We're pretty..." Dean finally spoke, gesturing stiffly toward their muddy clothes, and the dirty puddle that was forming around their feet. A sudden, uncontrollable shiver shook his whole body.

She smiled in sympathy.

"The floor's linoleum. It'll clean." The smile turned into a grin as she rolled her eyes toward the back of the lobby, in the direction the kid had stomped off. "Teenage boys are good for some things."

Sam looked at Dean for guidance, and Dean grimaced slightly. _Might as well._

Following his brother, who started after the woman, Dean found himself stepping carefully in Sam's muddy footsteps, trying to minimize the mess they were creating.

Both boys paused as they entered a surprisingly homey looking kitchen. Dean looked around as he stood uncertainly in the doorway with Sam. There was a battered table straight out of the 50s standing in the middle of the room, covered with books and papers and the remnants of cookies and empty glasses that had surely once been full of milk. In the corner stood an ancient refrigerator plastered with photos and drawings and report cards. The supper dishes were stacked neatly next to an overflowing sink, and the makings of lunches took up the rest of the small counter space.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who returned the look.

Jo had moved to the back of the room and opened a door out onto what looked like a porch.

"There's a mud room through here." She flipped on a light, and Dean could hear cabinet doors being opened and closed out of sight. He trailed after Sam into the alcove.

"Strip down as far as you're comfortable. You can put your clothes in there." She pointed to a large sink. "There are towels on the washer and some quilts. Shoes outside. I'll get the boys to clean them off for you once they've dried. Oh." She rooted through another drawer, and pulled out a couple of pairs of socks. "You can put these on, too."

And then she was gone. Bustling out and closing the door behind her.

Dean felt like his head was spinning as he stared at the door. Did she really expect them to get naked while she…? He turned to Sam, mouth open to protest, but Sam had already shucked off his jacket and was tossing it in the sink. He started on his shirt, cold fingers fumbling with mud-caked buttons.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sam looked up, surprised. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Are you kidding me? You're just going to strip? In a house with a strange woman and a bunch of weird kids? You know that boy had a gun, don't you?" Dean was speaking in a fierce whisper. "Maybe she wants us to impregnate her and that's why she…"

Sam was looking at him with genuine concern. He reached out a hand and placed it on his brother's forehead. "Do you have a fever again?"

Dean swatted the hand away. "Dude. Stop."

Exasperation and amusement warred on Sam's face.

"Man, she's a nice lady who can see that we're soaked and cold and she's just trying to help." Sam struggled out of his shirt, dropping it on top of his jacket in the sink. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled the long-sleeved t-shirt he wore underneath over his head. "And we just saw one kid."

"She mentioned another one," Dean mumbled.

"Dean, come on." Sam began to wrestle with his soaked jeans, cursing as he realized he'd forgotten to take his shoes off first. He crouched down, jerking at the matted laces, looking up at Dean through gritty bangs.

Sam's voice was gentler than Dean thought he probably deserved. "I'm tired. I'm freezing. I'm hungry. Let's just ..." He paused. "Can we just...?" _...let somebody be nice to us for a change? Can we just ... stop?_

Staring down at his shivering brother, Dean realized that his own teeth were chattering from the cold, and he clenched his jaw shut, wrapping his arms around his chest. He moved restlessly around the small space.

Finally rid of his shoes and his pants, Sam stood in his boxers, gooseflesh standing out starkly on his pale body. He grabbed a towel and started to dry himself off, but his eyes were on Dean.

The worry and uncertainty in Sam's eyes settled like a weight on Dean's chest. Dean knew that his brush with death had shaken Sam. It had shaken them both. Deeply. And it had made Sam careful of his brother in a way that Dean wasn't comfortable with.

Dean—sick, pale, dying—had opened Sam's eyes to the possibility that Dean was, in fact, vulnerable. So, Sam was no longer willing to take Dean's "I'm fine"s at face value. He watched his brother, anxious like he'd never been before, looking for signs of hurt or weakness. It made Dean jumpy. And touched him.

Dean wasn't sure why he was fighting this so hard. He could tell Sam that something didn't feel "right," that they should keep going. But that would be a lie. The truth was, if he stopped, Dean was deadly afraid he wouldn't be able to get started again.

Starting in Rockford, he'd taken body blow _Sampullingthetriggerpathetic_ after body blow _StoplookingformeSambrokenattheendofhishospitalbed_ and somehow he'd managed to keep going. To the next job. To the last job that had been nothing, but had almost killed both of them. Again. Because he'd been slow and Sam had missed something in his research. He didn't know how much longer he could do it. And he didn't know how much longer Sam could do it. And he knew Sam didn't know either.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked at his brother, forced out of the reverie he'd slipped into. He closed his eyes, and leaning against the washing machine, slid slowly to the floor.

"I'm just so goddamned tired, Sammy." It wasn't an answer. It was just all he had in him at the moment.

Wrapped in a quilt, Sam moved close and let himself sink down next to Dean.

"I know," he said quietly. "I am, too."

Dean tilted his head back, letting it rest against the washing machine. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, for a long moment.

"So." Dean sighed. "Your spidey sense isn't tingling or anything?" Sam's silence was answer enough. Dean nodded his acceptance.

"O.K."


	2. Chapter 2

Five minutes later, they stepped out of the mudroom into the kitchen.

Turning from the counter, Jo smiled at the boys, unsure. Sam wondered if they'd taken long enough that they'd made her nervous. While they'd been in the mud room, Jo had emptied the kitchen sink and started on the pile of dishes next to it.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam answered for both of them.

"Well. Y'all sit."

Dean had shuffled after Sam toward the kitchen table. He slipped into a chair, pulling the quilt tighter around him. The look on his face spoke his discomfort loudly to his brother, and Sam reckoned that his brother felt vulnerable and off-kilter in his underwear and the brightly colored blanket. Sam wasn't completely unfamiliar with that feeling.

"I've got coffee on. If you're interested." She was drying off her hands. "I'm Josephine Crouch, by the way."

"Sam Winchester." He nodded his head to Dean, oddly silent beside him. "This is my brother, Dean."

"Nice to meet you both." She pulled two mugs out of a cabinet and set them on the table in front of them. She stacked a pile of book and papers and carried them over to the counter. "Y'all on your way somewhere?" She continued to move around the kitchen, washing dishes and straightening up.

"Nowhere in particular. Just on a road trip."

"That's nice." She was wiping down the counter with her back to them. "Your parents don't mind y'all out where they can't get a hold of you?"

"Well, our mom died when we were little, and with Dad..." Sam met Dean's eyes quickly. "You know. Cell phones."

Jo turned awkwardly. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

Sam smiled at her. "It's OK." Her mouth turned up slightly at the corners and she nodded, eyes somehow sad.

There was a loud thump overhead and Sam jumped. Muffled voices, another bump, and the sound of feet, running.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Jo muttered.

The kid they'd seen initially appeared suddenly from a door to the right. For the first time, Sam noticed the stairs that disappeared into a second story of the house. More clattering and another boy emerged.

Both stopped suddenly at the sight of the two bedraggled men sitting at their kitchen table. Sam couldn't help but wonder what was going on in their heads. Dean, hair standing up at all angles, and dried mud streaking his cheeks, made a pretty sketchy picture. And Sam was sure he didn't look much better.

"Where have you two been?" Jo asked it wonderingly. "You should have been working on that room 15 minutes ago."

"Michael was talking to Emily." The younger boy danced out of his brother's reach, as the older took a swing at him.

Jo's eyes narrowed.

"She wasn't over here, was she? Because Michael..." Sam could hear the exasperation in her voice.

"We were on the phone!" He glared at his brother, who grinned in response behind his aunt's back.

"You were supposed to be off the phone 30 minutes ago," she said sternly. "Where is it now?" Michael fished around in his pocket and produced a cell. Jo pointed to the charger on the counter. "Put it there. And you can mop up the entry way when you're done with number 11."

Michael shrugged good-naturedly as he plugged in his phone. "Sorry, Aunt Jo."

"Yeah. Well." She shook her head at him, reaching out to smooth his hair. "Go get that room cleaned up so these two guys can get some rest."

"You didn't wake up Tommy with all your banging around up there, did you?" But she was asking it to the door as it slammed behind the boys. She sighed.

"So." She went over to the coffee maker. "It shouldn't take them too long to get the room ready." Picking up the pot, she held it out invitingly. "Coffee? Or I've got hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate!"

A small boy, about 8, slid into the kitchen on stockinged feet. None of them had heard his light tread coming down the stairs.

He stared at Sam and Dean in open fascination.

"Who are they?"

"Tommy." Jo said it as quellingly as she could as she walked toward him. "These are two new guests—Sam and Dean."

The boy leaned against his aunt as she put an arm around him.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"May I please have some hot chocolate, Mom?" He turned his face up toward his aunt, while she stroked his hair. "Please." Sam couldn't help but admire the subtly-done wheedling, yet not whining, tone of his voice. He coupled it with a sweet smile, and Sam watched the woman crumble.

"Well, OK."

"Thank you, Aunt Jo! Thank you!" He threw his arms around his aunt.

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes at the over-enthusiasm and ruffled his hair. "Go sit down."

Tommy climbed up in a chair across from Dean.

"Howdja get all muddy?" He addressed the question to the man on the other side of the table from him.

Dean cleared his throat. "Our car got stuck in the mud."

"How'd it get stuck?" His eyes were all frank curiosity.

"I, uh, tried to stop too suddenly and swerved off the road."

"Were you going too fast?" The little body was moving in time with the leg Sam saw swinging under the table. He was watching Dean seriously.

Sam reached out and grabbed the empty mug in front of him, peering intently into it, trying desperately not to laugh.

"Um."

"Tommy. Sam and Dean are tired. The car got stuck, they got it out, they're staying with us tonight. That's all you need to know."

The boy nodded, reaching for the mug of hot chocolate he was handed. He took a tentative sip. He looked back up at Dean.

"How'd you get it out?"

Now, Sam did laugh out loud, and he caught the grin Dean sent his way in response.

Dean bent forward toward the boy and said confidentially, "Well, I'll tell you, Tommy. It's not a pretty story, but…"

Sam smiled in response to Jo's silent question about coffee, holding out his mug to get filled up. He nodded, too, as the pot hovered over Dean's cup, indicating that his brother would like some, as well. Wrapping both hands around his mug, Sam hunched over, huddling under the quilt.

The warmth finally started to settle into Sam's bones, and he eased back in his chair, listening to Dean tell the story of their misadventures. It was good to hear Dean in such casual conversation with the kid. Tommy was wide-eyed and giggling as Dean described their attempts to free the car from the mud. Sam noted that most of the pratfalls seemed to involve him.

"So, then, Sammy here…"

"It's Sam." No heat. "And why don't you explain how you got to be covered with mud?"

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the sound of knocking and the door swinging open.

"Josie?" Sam would have expected the boys back, but the voice was deep and a man stepped into the mudroom, heading into the kitchen. He was wearing boots and the brown uniform that marked him as a sheriff.

"Hey, Luke." Jo cocked her head and caught the eye of the younger man who'd followed the sheriff into the room. "Matthew."

Both men took off their hats as they entered.

"Hi, Sheriff! Hey, Matty!"

"Tommy-boy," said the older man genially, even as his eyes moved assessingly over Dean and Sam.

Jo was pulling down more mugs from the cabinet. "Sam. Dean. This is Luke Sweed, our sheriff. And Matt Rodriguez, his deputy."

Sam stood and saw Dean do the same next to him. It wasn't easy but they both managed to keep hold of the quilts and shake hands.

"Luke, Sam and Dean are late registers. They had some trouble with the mud."

She set the mugs on the table as the two newcomers sat in the extra chairs around the table. She topped off Sam and Dean and filled the cups in front of the officers.

"Whatcha got there?" The deputy turned to Tommy, trying to peer into the boy's mug.

The sheriff turned his attention to the Winchesters.

"Where you boys headed?" It was asked conversationally, but the underlying tone made Sam tense up. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Dean had straightened slightly in his chair.

"They're on a road trip." Jo set a carton of cream on the table, and the sheriff reached for it, adding a dollop to his cup before he passed it to the deputy. "Nice to be young and free, don't you think?" She smiled at Sam before she leveled a look at the older man sitting at her table.

Now the sheriff shifted in his chair, a somewhat self-conscious grin coming and going quickly as he nodded.

"Yep. Must be nice."

The conversation switched to chitchat, Jo and Matt taking up the slack, catching up on the events of the day around town. Sam was thankful not to be included in the talk and, despite the coffee, felt the warmth and the hour starting to take their toll on him.

Sam's eyes strayed to Dean, who was clearly fighting sleep. Ever since Nebraska, Sam had found himself almost obsessed with Dean's health. He watched him all the time, surreptitiously monitoring his breathing, constantly vigilant for signs of relapse. Sam knew in his head that Dean had been healed, that he was well; but the fear that had gripped his heart during those days of uncertainty and helplessness would not let go.

To Sam's eyes, Dean had never quite regained his color after his illness, and he'd been too quiet, almost pensive, rarely joking or smiling, business-like with everyone. It scared Sam.

He knew, though, that he was driving Dean crazy with his anxiety. Try as Sam might to keep his worry hidden, his brother knew him too well. Sam was trying to get himself under control, but there were times when the terror of losing Dean felt all-consuming. And that scared, Sam, too.

Vaguely Sam wondered how much of his reaction was simply due to his exhaustion—both physical and emotional. He hadn't been sleeping before Dean had been hurt. And, if anything, things had gotten worse since. Dreams of Jess on the ceiling had been supplanted by nightmares of Dean in agony or gone. And Sam alone, frozen.

A burst of laughter turned Sam's head toward the sheriff. Luke was looking down at his coffee and shaking his head. The man glanced up, eyes meeting Jo's over the head of her nephew.

"Matthew! Gracious—don't say that sort of thing in front Tommy."

The deputy ducked his head, dark hair glinting in the light of the fixture above the table. Sam thought maybe the man sitting across from him wasn't that much older than he was himself, and Sam couldn't help but smile when the sheriff reached over and cuffed Matt lightly on the side of the head. Matt grinned, and mumbled an apology, earning himself a pat on the shoulder from Jo and a refill on his coffee.

Sam watched them interact—Luke and Jo, Matt and Tommy, the four of them together. There was an easiness among these people that translated into a comfort, a warmth that Sam hadn't felt in a long time. And, in spite of himself, Sam could feel the urge to sink into it.

He turned to Dean, saw his brother's head start to bob. Knowing how much Dean would hate to fall asleep in a group of strangers, Sam stretched out a long leg and kicked his brother gently under the table. Dean came upright with a start, blinking dazedly around the room. Sam smiled reassuringly when Dean's gaze fell on him. _Hey._ Dean made a soft sound of acknowledgement and settling, scrubbed his hands over his face. Sam could feel the weariness that radiated off his brother. He could only hope that their room would be ready soon. Otherwise he might have to carry Dean.

The sheriff and deputy stayed just long enough to overlap the boys by a couple of minutes. Michael and Jacob made quite an entrance, dragging linens and sniping at each other as they came. There was laughter in the greetings, and the sound of chairs scraping back and mugs being rinsed out as Luke and Matt made their exit. Michael and Jacob wrestled laundry into the washing machine still arguing as they added soap and turned on the water.

"Dean. Sam. Nice to have met you." Luke gave Jo a significant look before he put his hat back on and headed out the door. "Drive safe." He looked over at Michael and Jacob. "You boys don't let your mama stay up too late."

"Thanks for the coffee, Jo." Matt picked up his hat. He pointed it at Tommy. "Later, tater."

"You're welcome, boys. See y'all later."

Jo raised her voice to be heard in the mudroom. "Is that room gonna stand inspection, young men?"

"Yes!" The two voices stopped their bickering long enough to respond in unison.

She made a doubtful face at Sam and Dean. But she smiled, too.

"OK." She picked up Sam and Dean's empty mugs, carrying them to the sink and addressed another question to her nephews. "Y'all want some hot chocolate?"

Jacob slouched into the kitchen, glaring over his shoulder at his brother. "Sure."

Sam heard the lid to the washing machine slam in the other room and the water start.

"Yes, please."

Michael joined them, dropping into a chair. He sent his own frown at his brother.

Jo put mugs in front of both of them.

"I'm going to go check on the room." She looked from one boy to the other. "Am I going to be pleased?"

"Yes," Michael answered. Then under his breath, "No thanks to _Jakey_."

"It's Jacob. And you're a jackass."

"You're the jackass. Jake." Michael spat it. "You're absolutely useless, you know that?" He turned to his aunt. "He won't do anything unless..."

"You're not supposed to say 'jackass,'" Tommy interjected.

"Shut up!" Both of the older boys snarled it at their brother.

At this point, Sam was finding the top of the kitchen table particularly interesting as Dean turned his fascinated attention to the refrigerator. _Awkward_.

"Stop." Josephine sighed and rubbed her eyes, exasperated by the argument. "I'm too tired for this. Finish your drinks and then go to bed." She paused and turned to her oldest. "After you mop up the entry way."

Michael started to groan, but stifled it on a look from his aunt.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're not supposed to say 'shut up,' either," muttered Tommy as Jo left the room. Michael and Jacob just glared.

Silence descended. The younger boys slurped their chocolate while the older ones exchanged glances, just wanting bed.

"Miss Maddie says Luke's sweet on Aunt Jo."

If Sam had been drinking anything he would've spit it across the table. Tommy said it causally. Just putting it out there.

Michael and Jacob were unperturbed.

"No duh, moron," said Jacob, rolling his eyes.

Dean looked consideringly at the older boys, curious.

"So you guys had already figured that out?"

Michael shrugged. "The old ladies talk, you know?" He picked up his empty mug and took it over to the sink, rinsing it out and putting it in the dishwasher. "We hear things." He grabbed a mop and headed toward the front of the house. "See y'all later."

Jacob finished his own drink and, snatching Tommy's cup, took the mugs to the counter, thunking them down.

"Come on, munchkin, let's go." He tipped his younger brother out of his chair. "See y'all tomorrow."

Tommy waved sleepily as he trailed after Jake. "Night."

* * *

When Jo returned, she led Sam and Dean to a nice looking room just a couple of doors down from the diner.

"I hope you'll be comfortable for the night," she said. "There should be soap and shampoo in the bathroom."

"Thanks." Sam watched Dean shuffle into the room, headed toward a shower.

"Good night." Jo closed the door behind her.

The water turned on in the bathroom, and Sam said loudly, "I'll go get our stuff."

The galoshes that Jo had handed him in the house were a tight fit, and he contemplated putting on some clothes. But he was tired and already cold from the walk to the room. It was late enough that he thought no one would probably see him make a dash to the car, wrapped only in a quilt. _What the hell._

The rain had ended while they were in the house, but the wind was icy as Sam ran for it. Negotiating getting into the car with the quilt and the wind had proved more awkward than Sam had anticipated, and he wasn't sure that he hadn't flashed anyone who might have been looking out the window at the time.

Pulling the car around, Sam grabbed bags and headed to the room. When he entered, the shower was still running. Sam dug through Dean's duffle, finally finding clean clothes for his brother to sleep in. Rapping softly on the door to the bathroom, Sam stuck his head in.

"Here." He tossed the stack of clothes onto the closed toilet lid.

"Thanks."

Ten minutes later, Dean was out and Sam went in. By the time he got himself clean, Sam had used the last of the hot water. He'd actually been impressed that the water had stayed hot as long as it had considering how filthy they both were. Sam dried himself off and got dressed, brushing his teeth by rote, the rhythmic motion almost lulling him to sleep.

When he went back into the bedroom, Dean was hidden under a mound of covers, and the bedside lamp was the only light when Sam turned off the one in the bathroom. He stumbled to his bed, and crawled under the blankets. It was almost too much effort, but Sam reached out an arm, fumbling under the shade until he found the knob. He turned it, and the room fell into darkness.

"'Night, Sammy." More asleep than awake, Dean sounded achingly young, his voice smooth and somehow open in the vulnerable place between waking and sleeping.

Sam burrowed deeper into the clean sheets, the sound of his brother's voice settling him.

"Night."


	3. Chapter 3

It was 5:30 in the morning, and Jo had just finished wiping down the diner counter in anticipation of the breakfast crowd. Her first group of regulars had trickled in, sliding into their regular booth, anticipating their regular breakfasts.

In spite of the early hour, Jo loved this time of the day.

"Jo, you want me to start the coffee?" Marty wandered around the counter, already reaching for the filters.

Marty, Billy and Phil had been part of her morning routine since she had bought this place ten years before. Ranchers in their late 60s at the time, they'd shown up on opening day and hadn't missed a morning since. They talked horses and politics and theology and weather and, for the last couple of years, Lost. If they hadn't all been married to their high school sweethearts for the last 50 years, she'd've married any of them in a second.

"Thanks, Mart," she called.

When the door opened, Jo was surprised to see one of her late arrivals walk in as one of her first customers.

"Mornin'," she said.

Hands jammed in his pockets, Dean Winchester moved slowly into the diner. He gave her a brief head jerk of acknowledgment. "Mornin'."

He climbed onto one of the stools at the counter. Jo handed him a menu and went to check on the coffee.

"Are you waiting for Sam?"

Dean turned from the menu, twisting slightly to peer over his shoulder out the large picture window toward the parking lot, evidently looking for his brother. He shrugged.

"Not this morning, I guess."

She nodded, pouring him a cup. "Know what you want?" He was scanning the menu.

"Eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns. Ooo, grits."

Jo laughed. "Comin' up."

She put in the order and walked around the counter, headed for the old men. On Thursday mornings she loved to eavesdrop on their dissection of the previous evening's episode of Lost. Phil had actually learned how to use his computer for something other than Minesweeper and bookkeeping in pursuit of his obsession. He found the craziest things.

"So that x-ray of the Italian guy's back? Dated November 2005." He sat back, satisfied by the looks on his buddies' faces.

"What?" Billy exchanged a look with Marty. "That can't be right. When did they crash?"

"It's a screw up, Billy. Phil, stop jerkin' his chain. Some gopher grabbed a random x-ray and stuck it up there." He blew an exasperated breath out of his nose. "Like any of those bozos are payin' attention to that kind of stuff." Marty didn't believe anyone in television had a brain or a plan. He liked the show, but he was deeply skeptical.

Jo refilled their cups, lingering long enough to look at the screen cap that Phil had printed. She shook her head. She'd been lucky to keep her eyes open long enough to watch her tape. She left them bickering over continuity and the religious implications of the Virgin Mary statues they'd seen in the previews.

Jo found herself keeping an eye on Dean as she served people and bussed tables. He ate slowly, but steadily, seeming engrossed in the local paper he'd bought. His body language told her he was still tired, but his eyes when he'd come in had been clearer than the night before.

Close to 6:15, traffic slowed and she moved back to the counter, refilling Dean's coffee, and fussing with little things that needed to be done.

He'd finished his breakfast and had managed to find a pencil. Head propped in one hand, he was studying the crossword puzzle.

"Any luck?" She angled her chin at the paper.

"Nah. I hate these things." He slapped the pencil back on the counter and folded up the paper.

"Me, too." Jo shook her head. "But I still feel compelled to try every now and again."

"Yeah."

He stayed seated, head turned, watching the room.

"You're up early." Jo pulled a funnel and a large container of salt out from under the counter and started to refill salt shakers. "I hope the bed wasn't uncomfortable." She intentionally phrased her comment so that he'd think she was concerned about business and not him. Eyes on her task, she let the observation hang.

"Actually, the bed was great. I slept like a rock." His voice was polite, but it was truthful as well. "Sam's usually up early, and I guess my internal clock's adjusted to his."

She smiled, carefully moving the funnel from one shaker to the next. She still didn't look at him, but she said ruefully, "And now he's sleeping in."

He was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "I don't think he's slept this much in three nights combined the last couple of weeks."

Jo could hear the concern in his voice, and she risked a glance in his direction. He was looking back out the window.

"Sounds like y'all have had a rough time." Casual.

He shrugged, eyes still watching for Sam, and he sighed. "Sam's girlfriend was killed a few months ago, and he has these nightmares about it. And then when I got sick a couple of weeks back, it's like it made everything 10 times worse, because he's worried about losing me now, too, so I think he's sleeping even less, and..."

Dean's head came around and, unexpectedly, his eyes met Jo's. Neither was prepared for the contact, and for just a moment she caught a glimpse of the exhaustion and the pain and the confusion that she'd sensed haunted this young man from the moment he'd walked through her door. And just as soon as she'd seen it, it was gone, the shutters over his eyes slammed shut and the ramble abruptly stilled.

They looked at each other in silence, stunned. Jo wasn't sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't the grin he shot her. He had a smile that transformed him—full of charm and confidence and beauty—and it almost staggered her in its sadness.

"So, if he wants to play princess for a day, I guess I'll let him." He looked down for an instant and then back at her, eyes bright, smiling, flirtatious. "Hey, I'd love a refill." He waggled his coffee cup hopefully.

Jo faltered just for a moment and then responded the way she knew he wanted her to because she sensed, if she pushed, he'd be gone for good. So she smiled, her own flirty, maternal, waitress grin. "Coming right up."

Jo left him alone after that, giving him space, working steadily as the diner filled up and it became clear that her help was not coming in.

"Hello?" Jo grabbed the phone, wincing as she noisily dumped a load of dirty dishes in a tub. "Carol Anne? Where are you?" She did not have time for this. "You're where?"

On the other end of the line, hundreds of miles away, her morning waitress gave her notice, an hour and a half into her shift.

"Well, I wish you and Vic every happiness." She snarled it into the phone before she slammed the receiver down.

She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. _Count to 10. Count to 10._

"Trouble, honey?" Marty was paying the tab this week, and he was watching her with some concern.

"Carol Anne's eloped with Vic Jones."

Marty whistled. "Mabel Jones is not going to be happy about that."

Jo glared at him.

"Which is neither here nor there, since she's left you high and dry for the morning," he amended hastily.

Jo continued to stare at him balefully.

"And the rest of the week and the weekend." Marty shook his head, finally recognizing the ramifications of the defection, genuinely sympathetic. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Jo sighed, all the plans she'd had for the weekend suddenly overturned. "Well, we'll make due." There were times when she hated this place.

"Can I help?"

Jo turned, surprised to see Dean watching the exchange.

"I've waited tables before, and I don't have anything to do until Sam's up anyway." He shrugged. "You helped us out a lot last night. I wouldn't mind returning the favor."

Everything in her said no. Her sense of pride and her sense of hospitality and ... well, mostly it was her pride. She hated needing help, but she knew she did.

Swallowing hard, she said, "Are you sure? Because there's no need to return any favor..."

Dean stood, stuffing the newspaper into one of the pockets of his jacket before he shrugged if off.

"Tell me how it works around here."

* * *

Jo gave him the basics and put him to work. He was good. Better than Carol Anne. It wasn't long before she wasn't even watching him any more, just responding to questions he had about where things went and how to do certain things.

She was ringing up a couple of truckers, with Dean wiping down stations at the counter, when Michael came in. He grabbed an apron, tying it on. He looked at Dean with curiosity.

"Carol Anne quit," Jo told him.

"She run off with Vic?" Michael asked. Jo rolled her eyes, handing the truckers their change.

"A little warning next time, please," she said tartly. "Where's my morning sugar?"

Now Michael rolled his eyes, looking a little self-consciously at Dean just a few feet away, but coming over to hug and kiss his aunt.

She smiled. He was so easy.

As she hugged him, she said, "You did a good job cleaning up the entry last night. Thank you." She pulled back, but still held on. "And you and Jacob did a good job with 11 last night, too." She looked at him quizzically. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Although she suspected she knew.

He frowned slightly, stepping away. "He just has to make things hard, you know? And I wasn't in the mood to sweet talk him into doing everything he _knew_ he was supposed to be doing, so..."

So Michael had ordered instead of asked, and Jacob had whined and complained and dragged his feet and that was that.

Jo saw Dean smirking understandingly at her oldest nephew and shook her head. "You were both tired last night and it sounds to me like neither of you made good choices about how you responded to each other." She couldn't see her nephew's face, but she'd lay money that he was grimacing at Dean. "Will you please find one positive thing to say to your brother about how he did last night? I know it doesn't feel like it all the time, but a praise from you really goes a long way with him. I'll talk to him about the rest."

"Yeah, OK."

"Thank you." She handed him an empty gray tub.

"Mornin', Jo. Michael."

"Hey, Luke."

The sheriff hitched onto a seat at the counter, cocking an eyebrow at Dean who came over to pour his coffee. "Carol Anne, have you done something different with your hair?"

Michael guffawed out loud, grinning appreciatively at the sheriff before he wandered off to bus tables. Jo felt her heart tighten a little when Luke smiled, eyes alight when they met Jo's, clearly thrilled that he'd made the boy laugh.

Dean slapped a menu down in front of him and stalked off.

"What's all this then?" He handed the menu back to Jo, who'd placed his order 10 minutes earlier. She pulled his plate off the pass-through, and told him the morning drama as he ate.

"Good lord, that girl," was his only comment. They sat in silence for a minute.

"So. You determined to keep the two pups that showed up on your doorstep last night?" He took a bite of bacon, watching her.

She smiled at him sadly, leaning over with her elbows on the counter. "I don't know, Luke. They're just both so ... worn, I guess." Her eyes tracked Dean across the room. "They're awful young to be so tired."

He nodded his understanding, but couldn't keep back the warning. "Be careful, Josie, is all I'm saying. These two aren't the little slips of girls you usually rescue. They're grown men – young I'll grant you, but..." He studied her seriously. "I worry is all."

"I know you do. And I appreciate it." She watched Dean joking with Michael, and she turned back to Luke. "I'm usually a pretty good judge of people – Carol Anne aside – and I just feel good about these boys."

"You have a gift, and you know it," he said. "I can't help worrying, though, that you'll be wrong one time, and if these two are dangerous..."

"They're not dangerous,' she said.

Now she smiled.

"If anything, these two boys are going to be a lot less dangerous to the raging hormones in my household than Carol Anne was. I was afraid I was going to have to lock the knives up to keep Michael and Jake from killing each other over her before Michael figured out what a flake she was."

Luke laughed out loud. "That Michael's got a good head on his shoulders."

Jo could only agree.

Suddenly, Luke snorted, blowing coffee out of his nose. Jo turned to him in surprise as he wiped his face and the front of his uniform. He jerked his head toward the back of the diner, a grin splitting his face.

"They may be dangerous to the female population in the area, though."

Jo followed his eyes and saw Dean engaged in conversation with Sally Cummings, one of Michael's classmates. The 17-year-old girl was giggling, eyes capturing those of the man in front of her. She reached out, putting her palm on the Dean's chest, pushing slightly. Dean rocked back, grinning, arms spread, coffee pot precariously held in his hand. His head dipped forward as he responded, and Sally's laughter rippled across the room.

Heads turned at the sound, and Dean's own head came up. His eyes came to Jo's and she saw that he was suddenly self-conscious, taking a step back from the girl in front of him. Sally followed him, still smiling flirtatiously. Jo raised an eyebrow at Dean, and he took another step away, saying something low that stopped the girl in her tracks. The charming grin on his face seemed to have softened whatever he'd said, and he sauntered off, Sally watching him go, a wistful look on her face.

Jo returned her attention to Luke. "I think my after-school business is about to skyrocket," she told him dryly.

Luke took a sip of his coffee. "Figure out a way to work his brother into the schedule, and you'll have females coming in from three counties over."

* * *

"You ready to stop?"

Dean was unloading a tub of dirty dishes, and he looked up with relief.

"A break? Yeah." He put the last plate into the dishwasher and rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks. "How long to I get?"

She laughed. "Honey, take the rest of the day. Seriously. Things are slow and you've saved my life. I can handle it from here."

Dean looked at her doubtfully. "You've got help for lunch?"

"Lunch is never as busy as breakfast," she hedged.

Dean pulled off his apron. "I'll check on Sam and be back in time for lunch."

She considered him thoughtfully. "Thank you."

* * *

"Still asleep?"

She asked it when Dean returned. He hadn't been gone long, and he looked pensive.

"Yeah." He picked up the apron from where he'd dropped it, fumbling somewhat as he tied it around his waist again.

She was wary of overstepping again, but couldn't help trying to reassure him.

"It sounds like he needs it," she offered.

"Yeah." Dean was standing still, absently threading one of the dishrags through his fingers.

"I'm sure he's just catching up,' she said gently.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah."

Abruptly he shook his head, breaking out of whatever thoughts had distracted him. He smiled, trying for the cocky grin he'd used on her earlier, but not quite getting it.

"So." He was clear again. "What's going on with those two rooms between me and Sam and the diner?" Deflecting.

Jo allowed herself to be distracted.

"We've been refurbishing rooms over the last year or so. I got over-ambitious around Christmas, thinking we'd be slow enough that we could get a couple of rooms done at once." She shook her head ruefully. "I should have known better. We'd just started stripping wallpaper when we had a hard freeze that busted pipes in three rooms." Dean winced sympathetically. "And then all four of us got sick and it was all I could do to get up in the morning and keep the boys hydrated, nevermind trying to get those rooms operational."

She looked out the pass-through window, waving at someone who'd come in. Grabbing menus, she finished, "By the time we were all well, business had picked up again."

Dean followed her out the swinging door, and Jo made her way to the booth with the new people. She handed them their menus, took their drink orders and went back to the counter. Dean helped her pour coffee and water.

"Have you gotten anything done on the rooms since then?"

Jo was surprised. "Nope," she said matter-of-factly, loading a tray. "Spring break maybe with the boys," she smiled and shrugged. "It'll get done."


	4. Chapter 4

At 2:15 a bustling woman named Marge arrived for the afternoon and evening shifts, and Jo chased Dean off.

She handed him his share of the breakfast and lunch time tips. "I've got to look at my books for paying you for the morning, but..."

"No payment." Dean stuffed the cash into his pocket, grabbing his coat. "I told you. Returning a favor."

"Dean. Waiting tables for 7 hours is way above and beyond anything..."

"I probably still owe you." He cut her off, shaking his head definitively as he pulled on his jacket. "If I hadn't had something to do, I'd've been so bored, I probably would've woken Sam up. It was worth it to let him sleep in." The smile he sent her was cautious, and she returned it.

"Well. Thanks, then."

He shrugged it off. "No problem."

By the time he made it back to the room, Dean was dragging. He'd forgotten how exhausting waiting tables was.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the room. Sam's bed was empty, and the shower was running in the bathroom. Without realizing he was doing it, Dean paused, listening, alert for something off. Sam sang and actually talked to himself in the shower sometimes. There it was – a snatch of a song, slightly off-key. Dean checked the clock. 2:45. If Sam was just up, he'd slept more than 14 hours.

Dean dropped onto his bed, toeing off his shoes before he put his feet on the bed, falling back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes, starting to drift, the sound of the water and Sam fading into the background.

When Dean had checked in earlier, Sam had still been out cold, sprawled across the bed on his back, snoring lightly. As a kid, Sam had always been a restless sleeper. He'd gotten dangerous as he'd grown, lanky arms and legs shooting out at odd times and angles whenever he changed positions.

He'd actually bloodied Dean's nose one night. They'd been on the road with their dad, sharing a double bed in a seedy motel as they waited for John to return from a hunt. Dean had woken with a yelp, but Sam hadn't even stirred until Dean began to pummel him, pushing his younger brother off the bed and onto the floor. When John had gotten back, Sam had been seething on his father's bed, while Dean nursed his throbbing nose on his own bed. John had ordered a roll away, and the boys hadn't shared a bed since.

Dean didn't know what things had been like in the years they'd been apart. But he did know that at least since they'd been traveling together, sharing space and lives, Sam was a different sleeper.

When he did sleep, he was motionless, arms folded protectively across his chest. What he was protecting himself from, Dean didn't know. The dreams? Jessica? Whatever demon had killed her and their mother? All Dean knew was that Sam, even in sleep, wasn't the boy he'd had grown up with.

Seeing Sam like this, arms and legs akimbo, covers tangled at his feet, had been an odd relief to Dean. He'd shaken his head as he'd closed the door behind him. Walking over to the bed, Dean had reached down and pulled on the sheets, gently unwinding them from around his brother's legs. Carefully, he'd straightened them out, pulling them up over Sam. The blankets and comforter had been kicked completely off the bed, and Dean had pulled them up as well, settling them over Sam's still form.

Dean had looked down at his brother's face, relaxed in sleep. Dean genuinely wasn't sure when Sam had last slept this long, and he'd wondered if a couple more nights in this place would help. Restless again, Sam had moved, brow wrinkling as he shifted, and Dean had hesitated. Uncertain, he'd reached out a hand, brushing back the unruly bangs and placing his palm on Sam's forehead.

"It's OK, buddy," he'd said softly. "Go back to sleep."

It had always worked when they were kids, calming Sam, reassuring him, though Dean hadn't been sure what affect he'd have on his brother now.

But Sam had stilled immediately, muttering something unintelligible before he'd turned over, pulling the covers with him, kicking out at the same time. Dean had smiled and headed back to work.

As he'd pulled the door shut behind him, Dean had considered their options. He'd like to stay for awhile—long enough for Sam to catch up, long enough to make sure he wasn't passed out because he'd worn himself down into sickness. The problem was that they didn't have the cash to stay. Dean was pretty confident they had enough for last night and tonight, but... Any longer and they'd need to pull out one of the credit cards.

But Dean wasn't willing to do that to Jo or the boys. He hunched his shoulders as the wind whipped past him. Plus, Luke would probably hunt their asses down and kill them.

Dean had sighed and glanced at the window of the room next to theirs. The curtains were drawn, but there was a slight gap between them, and what looked like a ladder poking through as it leaned against the window. Curious, Dean had tried to peer into the room, pressing his face against the glass and using his hand to block the glare. The gray light outside didn't do much to illuminate what was behind the drapes, but in the shadows he could make out paint cans and another ladder. He hadn't seen any furniture, and the walls had been bare. Dean had pulled back. _Huh._

He'd checked out the next room as well. There had been a little bit more of a gap between the curtains and he'd been able to see fairly clearly that the room was in the process of being remodeled. But there'd been nobody working mid-day, and Dean had wondered what the deal was.

He'd still been mulling over the situation when he got to the kitchen. Sam, money, rest. How to take care of everything. He knew he was tired because he hadn't been able to put things together, and it had taken him a few minutes to realize that Jo was, in her way, trying to reassure him about Sam. He'd finally forced his mind back to the task at hand, asking about the rooms, wondering, deflecting. She'd let him, and he'd known it. And it had been almost comfortable.

* * *

The snick of the door catching made Dean open his eyes. He was on his back, and the light in the room was dimmer than it had been last time he'd been aware of it. He rolled his head toward the noise.

"Mornin', glory," said Sam.

Dean made a sound deep in his throat and rolled over onto his belly, drawing his arms under his body up to his chest and rubbing his face into the pillow.

"Mmmph," he answered. Then he turned his eyes to Sam. "It isn't really morning, is it?" he asked groggily.

"Nah." Sam put a cup of coffee on the bedside table. "But you've been out a couple of hours."

Dean turned over onto his back again, stretching, before he sat up and reached for the coffee. He looked at the clock. 5:27.

"Where've you been?"

"Eating." Sam flopped down on his own bed. He took the lid off his coffee and blew on it. Dean could see the light brown liquid in Sam's cup, ripple under his brother's breath. Sam leaned back against the headboard. Dean pulled the lid off his own cup and took a tentative sip. Nice. He scooched up until he was leaning against the headboard like Sam. They sat for awhile in silence.

"Jo said you waited tables this morning."

"Yeah. Made some fair tips." He took a second to dig around in his pocket and produced the wad of cash. He tossed it on the table next to Sam. Sam looked at it casually.

"How're we doing cash-wise?"

"Not so good. Got enough for another night, I think."

Sam nodded, and Dean could see the skin around his brother's eyes tighten almost imperceptibly.

"Listen, I've been thinking..."

Sam turned his attention to his brother and raised an eyebrow.

Dean sat up and swung his legs off the bed, facing his brother.

"We might be able to help Jo out."

He nodded his head toward the diner. "There are a couple of rooms they're trying to remodel. Jo said she hasn't had the time to get them finished. I thought we could offer to work on them, maybe in exchange for room and board for a week or so."

Sam was quiet for a moment.

"You think she'd go for that?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He was going to have to figure out the best way to approach her about it. "She might."

"It won't give us any extra cash," Sam commented.

"We could switch off working in the diner until she gets a replacement for that Carol Anne girl, maybe. Tips aren't bad."

Sam thought about it. "Do you know anything about remodeling?"

"I've worked construction enough. I can do what needs to be done."

"I thought you didn't do honest jobs," Sam said slyly.

Dean grinned at Sam.

"I didn't say I didn't do them. I just said fun and easy was _better_ than honest."

"Ah."

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

"I think..." Sam shrugged. "I think staying put for awhile would be... nice." The look Sam sent him told Dean that his brother's anxiety about him was still there, just under the surface.

_Ditto_. "Yeah."

* * *

They ate in the diner around 7. Marge had served them, teasing Sam—who she'd met that afternoon—and complimenting Dean on his work before she'd gotten there.

"First time in months I haven't had to refill every single salt shaker and wipe down every table again before I could put people at them."

Sam ordered a cheese burger and fries, while Dean opted for chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. Sam quickly decided that Dean's cream gravy was better for his fries than ketchup and, when Jo and the boys came in, Dean and Sam were in the middle of a heated duel—Dean's fork doing a fair job of defending his plate against Sam's french fry attack.

"Come on, man," Sam protested, jerking his fry out of range of Dean's slashing fork. "I just want a dip."

"That's what you said the first five times, dude." He pointed his fork at Sam. "You're cut off."

Sam gave Dean a mock scowl, and chomped on his french fry. Dean bared his teeth at his brother in a grin of triumph.

"Hey, Sam!" Tommy slid into the booth next to Sam. "Can I have a fry?" He reached out to snag one as Sam sat back, laying his arm across the top of the bench seat.

"Hey, Tommy," Sam answered. "Try it with gravy," he offered pointing at Dean's plate.

"Cool!" Tommy sat up on his knees to reach across the table. Dean shook his head at Sam, and pushed the plate closer to the boy.

"Thanks!"

"Hey, Dean." Michael stood at the table.

"Mike." Dean looked over his shoulder and spotted Jo at the cash register. "I need to talk to your aunt," he said, moving to exit the booth.

"Keep an eye on my gravy, will you?" Sam had already snaked an arm out to grab the plate, but Michael moved it away deftly as he took Dean's place.

Dean leveled a look at Sam. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded his understanding. He handed Tommy a fry and dropped an arm around the boy's shoulder. Dean saw the heads—Sam's dark, Tommy's fair—come together as they plotted against Michael.

Dean headed slowly across the room toward Jo. He'd grabbed their check, and he put it on the counter in front of Jo.

"How was everything?" she asked with a smile.

"Great," he said. He counted out the bills to pay the tab. "Do you need help tomorrow morning?"

"You going to be up?"

"Sam will be."

Jo laughed, and Dean snorted. "He had almost 15 hours last night. It's his turn."

"Well. If he's really up for it, that would be a huge help. Thank you."

"I've got another question for you. And I guess a proposition."

Jo looked up from putting the money in the cash register.

Dean cleared his throat.

"Sam and I... we're a little short... I mean," Dean hastened to reassure her. "We've got enough cash for last night and tonight. We're just..." He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably and cleared his throat again. "I was thinking about those two rooms you're remodeling. Maybe Sam and I could finish them out for you. Take morning shifts at the diner 'til you get a replacement for Carol Anne. For room and board. Maybe tips."

Jo was studying him seriously, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head, calculating.

"We've both worked construction plenty of times. I know what I'm doing," he assured her steadily.

Jo just watched him, like she was trying to see into him, looking for something. Dean didn't know what that something was, and he could only return her gaze, hoping that she would trust them.

Suddenly, her eyes moved past him, and Dean turned his head to see what had distracted her. Of course it was Sam with Tommy and Michael. Sam was grinning, impish as he made quick, darting feints toward the plate that Michael had picked up and was struggling to keep out of Sam's long reach. Sam was egging Tommy on, too, Dean could see, and the youngest boy had ducked under the table and was about to upset both Michael and the plate of gravy.

"Sam!"

Dean spread his arms in a _What the hell?_ gesture that Sam responded to instantly, reaching down and snagging Tommy, pulling the boy out from under the table and back onto the seat next to him. Michael's head swiveled toward the sound of Dean's voice.

"What?" Sam called, all innocence.

"Cut it out."

Sam made an offended face before taking advantage of Michael's distraction and dunking two french fries into the plate. He handed one to his co-conspirator, smirking across the room at his older brother.

"Brat," Dean muttered under his breath as he turned back to Jo.

"I can't promise to keep him completely under control, but when he's not acting like a 12-year-old, Sam's pretty reliable," he said.

Jo was amused when she met Dean's eyes, and he saw that the uncertainty was gone. She nodded, a decision made.

"I would love to take you up on your offer. Tips are yours no question, but I insist on paying you for any time you help out in the diner."

Dean nodded. "That would be great. Thanks."

Jo grinned, clearly thrilled. "So you can start tomorrow?"

Dean felt the relief surge through him, a load lifting off his shoulders. He felt almost giddy. Grinning back at her, he nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

Sam had agreed to take the next morning's shift, setting the alarm clock for 5:30am.

"Reset it for 7:30, will you, Sammy?" Dean had mumbled when it went off originally. Sam had grunted an assent, and Dean had rolled over.

When the alarm went off again, Dean got out of bed, dressing in his oldest jeans and one of his most beat-up t-shirts. Throwing on his jacket, he made a dash through the cold wind to the diner. It had started to rain again, sleet mixed with it, and he slid the last couple of feet to the diner door. He caught himself before he fell, grabbing the handle of the door.

"Crap," he mumbled, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed his near-miss. He thought he'd escaped notice until he entered the diner to find Sam and Michael snickering at him.

"Shut up," he grumbled.

"You're not allowed to say 'shut up,'" Sam informed him.

Dean was about to flip him off when Jo walked in.

"Where is Jacob? Good morning, Dean."

There was a honk outside.

"Bus!" Tommy yelled, and there was a sudden clattering as the kids in the diner headed for the door.

Dean stepped aside to let the flood of children out.

"Michael."

Dean reached out and snagged the boy before he could escape. Michael shot Dean a dirty look as he was pulled out of the stream and propelled toward his aunt. Tommy ran past him out the door.

"Where's your brother? Did you wake him up before you came down?"

Michael's eyes went to the floor and he shifted from one foot to the other. Jo narrowed her eyes at him. "Michael." It was a threat.

"Well, he's so sure he can do everything on his own and doesn't want anyone telling him what to do!" The boy's voice was defiant, but Dean could hear the recognition that he may have pushed too far.

"You didn't make sure he was up?" She shook her head. "I'm going to have to leave work to take him to school because he's going to miss the bus." She was clearly more than a little put-out.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he mumbled. The look on the boy's face told Dean that what had probably seemed like the perfect payback for his little brother was not turning out the way Michael had planned. "I meant to go wake him up later, but I forgot. I just wanted..."

"Go catch the bus. We'll talk about this later."

"Yes, ma'am."

Michael sidled past Dean on the way out, eyes meeting Dean's briefly as he brushed by. He started to run when he was out the door.

"Do you, uh, want to talk about the rooms?" Dean offered.

"Sure. Grab some breakfast and let me go see what I can do about my slug-a-bed."

Luke was there again, watching from the diner counter. Dean grabbed the stool a couple of seats down from him. He nodded at the sheriff who acknowledged him with a slight smile.

"You want eggs and bacon? They've got grits." Sam put a mug of coffee down in front of his brother.

"Yeah. And hash browns." Sam nodded, sliding the order over to the cook. He headed back to the other tables.

"So, I hear you two are going to be around for a little while."

Dean tried to gauge Luke's tone of voice. It seemed neutral, but it was hard to be sure. He paused.

"Yeah."

Luke was watching him speculatively. "That'll be a help to Jo," he allowed.

Dean lifted a shoulder slightly. "It'll be a help to us, too."

Luke nodded his acceptance.

When Jo returned, she leaned against the other side of the counter between the two men. She looked at Luke. "Well, it's tears this morning," she said resignedly. Luke smiled at her.

"Sure it is. But you know that by the time he gets down here, it'll be rage."

She sighed. "Yep."

She said to Dean, "Jacob was such a quiet little boy, but he hit 14 and suddenly it's all sullenness and anger. I never know, moment to moment, whether he's going to burst into tears or fly into a rage."

Dean snorted. "Sam was the same way. He was always this easy-going, good-natured little kid. And then suddenly he's all attitude and pissiness. He and my dad went at it all the time until Sam left home." He looked up at Jo, abruptly aware of the implication of what he'd said. "Not that Jacob'll leave home." He tried to backtrack. "My dad. He's as stubborn as they come, and Sam was exactly the same way. They..." he stopped talking.

He was saved from further awkwardness by Jacob, who stormed into the diner. He slung a backpack under the counter and climbed onto the barstool between Luke and Dean. Which Dean found interesting. The boy frowned at the menu that his aunt handed him.

"I don't have time to eat," he complained, shooting a glance first at Luke and then at Dean. "I'm going to be late and I have a quiz..." His voice was aggrieved and starting to get louder.

"Jacob, you have plenty of time. School doesn't start for more than 30 minutes. You can have cereal or something quick."

"It's too cold for cereal."

"Well, eggs then. Scrambled is quick."

"I don't want eggs."

_Oh. My. God._

"Jake." Luke's voice was gentle, but the underlying edge was clear.

"Eggs, I guess," he muttered.

Jo went back into the kitchen.

"I hope he gets grounded for a month," Jacob said darkly, looking for sympathy from one of the men sitting next to him.

Both Dean and Luke made non-committal noises.

"He's going to be so mad if he can't go out with Emily," he gloated.

Luke raised an eyebrow at Dean over the boy's head.

"You're a vengeful little guy," Dean commented.

"Do you know what he did?" he demanded. "He deliberately didn't..."

"Jacob." Jo was back. "We don't need to get into that right now."

"Is he getting grounded?"

"That's not any of your business. I'll deal with the consequences for him."

Jacob scowled at her.

Now, his aunt pointed a finger at him. "I mean it, Jake. If I get called to school today because of a fight between you and your brother, I will reinstitute trips to the woodshed for you. Do you understand me?"

The boy's face was still mutinous, but he was also obviously reconsidering his plan of action for the day.

"Jacob? Are we clear?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

His aunt raised an eyebrow, and Luke said softly, "Excuse me?"

Jacob sent Luke a sulky look. "Yes, ma'am."

"Why don't I take Jake to school when he's finished?" Luke offered.

"Thank you," said Jo said shortly before she walked off.

Dean saw Jacob's shoulders hunch at this development and looked over at Luke who was watching the boy next to him consideringly. Sam joined them briefly, setting plates down in front of both Dean and Jacob. He raised an eyebrow at Dean, a somewhat rueful smile on his face.

Jacob devoured his eggs with a ferociousness and intensity that mirrored his mood. When he was done, he slid off the stool, grabbing his backpack, silently waiting for his ride.

Luke finished his coffee and left money for the tab on the counter.

He nodded at Dean. "Good luck today."

"Thanks."

Dean watched over his shoulder as Jacob trailed behind Luke until they reached the exit. Luke paused for a moment, swinging the door open with one hand, as Jacob caught up and preceded him out. The door closed behind them, and Luke reached out a hand, resting it on Jacob's shoulder, pulling the boy close briefly. Head down, Jacob turned slightly toward the sheriff, and Dean realized that he must have said something because Luke suddenly laughed, and shoved him slightly, hand moving up to ruffle the kid's hair. Jacob jerked his head away, but Dean caught sight of a smile on his face before the two separated, Jake opening the passenger door to the sheriff's truck, while Luke walked around the hood.

"Luke can always settle Jake down." Dean swiveled back around to Jo who was standing behind the counter watching the same scene Dean was.

She shook her head.

"Let me know when you're ready, and I'll tell you what I was thinking in terms of the rooms."

Dean mopped up the last of his eggs with his toast and shoved the overlarge bite into his mouth.

"I'm ready."


	5. Chapter 5

They spent almost an hour in the two rooms, Jo explaining what she'd hoped to accomplish and Dean making notes, both mental and written. There were some things he knew he'd need to get back with her on later—some specifics on replacing fixtures and carpet and colors. But he felt like he had enough to get a good start. Right now it was mostly ripping stuff out. _Cool._

Dean decided to start with the room closest to the diner. It seemed to be the furthest along, so he made a list of things to get done and got to work. The wallpaper was ancient and a bitch to take off. It was frustrating, dirty work. Close to noon, he brushed off the worst of the dust and wallpaper pieces and walked down to the diner.

Dean chose a booth over the counter, and Sam joined him, yawning through his burger and fries.

"How'd you sleep last night?"

"Fine," Sam said, taking a long gulp of his Coke.

"Yeah?" Dean eyed him.

"Yeah." Now it was Sam's turn. "You?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Good."

"Good."

A comfortable silence.

"Which room are you working on?"

"Thirteen. They'd gotten more of the wallpaper stripped in that one. I figure we can pull everything out that needs to come out, and then work on building it back up."

Sam nodded. "Makes sense."

"I thought so."

Sam grinned at him.

"How're the tips?"

"Pretty good." Sam glanced around the room. "I better get back, though." He climbed out at the booth.

"O.K."

"I'll come help when I'm done here.

"Yeah, you will," Dean gruffed.

Sam flicked Dean's ear as he went by.

"Ouch," Dean complained absently, rubbing it.

"See you in awhile."

"Yeah."

* * *

The work went faster with Sam that afternoon. There were times when having a brother who was a giant was really handy. All Sam needed was a box to reach the top of the wall, so Dean put him to work pulling paper out of the nooks and crannies around the ceiling. Sam was muttering steadily under his breath as he worked. Dean hummed contentedly where he sat on the floor.

"Hey!"

The door ricocheted off the wall as Tommy entered. Sam teetered on his box—the noise and the impact itself almost knocking him off balance. Dean jumped, too, and he realized he'd heard the bus 15 or 20 minutes before.

"Hey," Dean responded. Sam steadied himself against the wall.

Jacob came in behind his younger brother. He sent Dean a small smile. "Hey." Dean nodded at him.

"What are you boys up to this afternoon?"

Dean asked it off-handedly, turning back to the strip of wallpaper in front of him that had fused itself to the sheetrock. He started to curse, but was suddenly aware of Tommy standing right behind him, watching closely. _Rassa-frassa..._

"Nothin'" was the reply.

"You wanna help?"

Dean heard Jacob's snort. _Yeah, right._

"Sure!" Tommy crouched down next to Dean. "Can I do that?"

Dean considered. He wasn't sure about giving a small boy a putty knife and asking him to remove wallpaper. The kid was liable to remove chunks of the wall as well.

Sam was looking down at scene from his perch high above it all. Dean squinted up at him.

"Closet?" Sam asked.

"Closet," said Dean. He turned back to Tommy. "Have I got the job for you."

Climbing to his feet, Dean grabbed a piece of sandpaper and, as an afterthought, a mask. He opened the door to the closet. It hadn't ever been painted, and the walls were dirty-looking and rough.

"I need you to sand down the walls in here. Get 'em smooth. Then you can paint it." Jacob, despite his disinterest, had joined them and he looked at Dean doubtfully. "The closet?"

"Sure. Closets are an important feature in a hotel room. A closet should be clean looking so people feel comfortable putting their clothes in it. Makes it feel homey." He was totally blowing smoke. But it sounded plausible.

Tommy took the sandpaper out of his hand. "Cool!" Dean pulled the mask over the boy's head, tightening the rubber bands that would hold it to his face. The cup was big enough that it almost obscured the kid's vision, but eventually Dean got it to a place that seemed workable. Tommy plopped onto the floor of the closet and began to scrub the wall vigorously.

Dean put a hand on his head. "Remember, you want to get the whole wall smooth, right? Don't rub a hole in one spot." The head nodded and the area being sanded expanded. "Good." He watched Tommy work for a brief moment and then returned to his own spot on the floor.

Jacob watched Tommy, too, and then wandered around the room, picking things up and putting them down. Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Ultimately, Jake pulled a piece of sandpaper off the stack and re-joined Tommy in the closet. Sam bit his lip when he met Dean's eyes, and they both shook their heads.

The work continued for awhile, Dean catching snippets of conversation between the two boys ensconced in the closet—Jake responding to Tommy's comments and questions with good-humored patience. Dean asked about the diner shift, and Sam filled him in on the scoop and the dirt of the lives of the people he'd waited on that day.

When the door opened again, it was Michael, looking for Jacob.

"Mom wants you," he said coolly.

Tommy, from the closet, watched his brothers.

Jacob stood. "'kay."

Michael ignored his younger brother as Jake moved to the door, and Dean saw Jake's eyes follow Michael a little forlornly, as he walked past.

"What are you doing?" Michael addressed the question to Tommy. When the door shut behind Jake, Michael's head turned toward it slightly, but quickly returned his attention to his youngest brother.

"Did you get grounded?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"Why does Aunt Jo want Jakey? Is he in trouble, too?"

Michael lifted a shoulder to indicate his indifference. "Why are you sanding the closet?"

Easily distracted, Tommy parroted back Dean's reasoning for painted closets, and Michael seemed to accept this. He picked up Jacob's discarded piece of sandpaper and joined his brother.

"Oh." Michael raised his voice to be heard outside of the closet. "Aunt Jo said to tell y'all that dinner's at 6 and if you need laundry done, bring it."

Dean looked at Sam, who pulled a _I don't know; what do you think?_ face at his brother.

"I thought we would just eat in the diner."

"Aunt Jo said to tell you that 'board' means dinner with the family. And laundry."

Dean wasn't comfortable with that last part.

"She doesn't..."

"She also said if you didn't want her to do your laundry, you'll still need a lesson on how to use the machines. They're particular."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

* * *

The boys had gotten bored around 4:00, but Sam and Dean had worked until a little after 5, when they'd put things away and headed back to the room to clean up for dinner.

Although Dean probably wouldn't have admitted it to Sam, it was a comfortable feeling to walk through the diner and into the family kitchen. He swung the door open, Sam on his heels, carrying a duffel full of dirty clothes. The smells of lasagna and bread had been masked by the odors from the diner, but they hit him now, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He heard Sam's belly respond similarly.

"Wow. It smells great!" Sam beat him to it, but Dean nodded his agreement.

"Thank you," Jo smiled. "Did you bring your laundry?"

"Yeah, but you don't need..."

She laughed, holding up both hands. "You won't get an argument from me! But I need to give you a lesson on how to work the machines. They're old and kind of cranky." She walked them through the process, and Sam, who always paid more attention to the details, nodded along with all the instructions. Dean listened as attentively as he could, but he knew from long experience that it would be Sam who would remember it all. They put a load in the second washer, the first already humming away.

"Here are your clothes from the other night," Jo said. "I guess y'all don't have a laundry basket, do you?" Both boys shook their heads. She pulled out an extra and dropped the small stack of their belongings into it. "You can use this one while you're here."

"Thanks."

They sat down at the table, two large casserole dishes on potholders, a loaf of bread, cut and buttered, a bowl of salad, milk. Dean didn't know how long it had been since he and Sam had eaten like this. Years. For him, at least. He realized suddenly that Sam might have had some of this with Jessica, and he felt a brief, sharp ache in his chest for his brother. But Sam was grinning next to him, eyes wide. Like he couldn't believe it.

"Shall I bless it?" Jo reached out her hands to the boys next to her, and on Dean's right Tommy's palm was turned up to him. Startled, Dean looked at Sam, who had, without hesitation, extended his hand to Dean on one side and Michael on the other. Slowly, Dean took Tommy's small hand in his, and with a slight narrowing of his eyes at his brother, grasped Sam's as well.

Heads bowed, and Dean followed suit. He'd never felt comfortable closing his eyes around people he didn't really know, so he kept his open slightly, watching the people around him through his lashes.

"Heavenly Father..."

Jo's eyes, unsurprisingly were closed, face still as she prayed. Sam's eyes were shut, too, and Tommy's, although the swinging foot under the table seemed to indicate he might not be paying very close attention.

"...and thank You for Sam and Dean and their new friendship..."

Dean's eyes swung back to Jo, but not before he caught Jacob's stare from across the table. The eyes snapped shut. Dean raised an eyebrow in amusement, and then looked over at Michael, who was watching him, too. Michael rolled his eyes and smiled before he ducked his head down again.

"Amen."

There was a chorus of "amens" from around the table, and Dean felt Tommy's hand tighten on his briefly. He squeezed back reflexively, and dropped Sam's hand unceremoniously.

Dinner was a chatty, relaxed time. Given the tension between Michael and Jacob, Dean had expected silence and resentment, but whatever "talk" Jo had had with the boys seemed to have dispelled at least some of the unhappiness. Jacob had been mostly quiet, but he'd responded to questions a lot more civilly than Dean had witnessed up to this point.

"Can Sam and Dean watch movies with us?"

They'd finished dinner, and Jo had started the boys clearing the table.

"Of course, they're welcome, if they'd like," she said easily. She handed Tommy Dean's plate, and turned him toward the sink. Sam picked up his own plate and stood. He grabbed his glass and Dean's on his way to the kitchen counter.

"Sam, sit down," she said firmly. "Dinner dishes are the boys' responsibility."

Sam put the dishes on the counter. "I don't mind." He gave her what Dean considered Sam's _Aw, shucks, ma'am, it's nothin'_ smile. It was charming and self-effacing and it usually turned women to goo, bending them completely to Sam's will.

"Well," she said kindly, "I do. Please let them take care of it."

Sam blinked in surprise. His eyes went to Dean, and chastened, he sat back down.

"Thank you."

"Y'all should watch with us! It's really fun. Me and Michael and Jacob get to take turns picking the movie and it's my turn this week."

"Michael and Jacob and _I..._ " Jo corrected.

"Yeah," he acknowledged somewhat impatiently. "Anyway, it's my turn and it's gonna be really good."

"We're not watching _The Incredibles_ again," Jake said from the sink.

"It's my turn," Tommy responded.

"Aunt Jo told you you have to pick something else this time." Michael backed Jacob up.

"I like _The Incredibles_ ," said Sam, instinctively taking sides with the youngest.

"Have you seen it 47 times?" asked Jacob darkly.

"It loses something around the 25th viewing," agreed Michael.

"But, it's my..." Tommy started to argue.

"Tommy." Jo joined the fray. "You already asked me about your choice. And it was something else."

"Yeah," Tommy admitted sulkily. "But still..."

Jo made a noise of exasperation and bonked the boy on the head with a potholder. "It's not _The Incredibles_ ," she reassured her older nephews.

Dean considered. He looked at Sam, gauging his brother's reaction. Sam was intrigued. _Normal_ , Dean thought.

Tommy finally let it drop. "Aunt Jo makes popcorn and sometimes we have hot chocolate, and since Michael's grounded, he's gonna be here." Dean couldn't help but be amused and kind of touched that for Tommy, Michael's presence was clearly a big selling point. He figured that Michael probably wasn't going to be as enthusiastic about the evening as his little brother.

"Yeah, why not? If you're sure you don't mind," he asked Jo.

"Not at all."

"Yea!"

As the boys finished up the dishes, Dean helped Jo move laundry from the washers into the driers and start another couple of loads. Jo piled the contents from the driers they'd just emptied into a laundry basket and carried it into the kitchen.

About 10 minutes earlier, Sam had hesitantly offered to make the popcorn, and he'd grinned with pleasure when Jo had given him permission. Now, he was shaking a pan over one of the gas burners waiting for the kernels to pop. Jo set the basket on the cleared kitchen table and reached into one of the cupboards, pulling down an enormous blue and white crockery bowl. She put it on the counter next to Sam.

"You think you can fill that up?"

"Yes, ma'am," he assured her.

"Good. Cuz we're hogs for popcorn in this family."

She went over to the fridge and opening it, peered into the back. "I have beer. Do y'all want one?" She ran her eyes over Sam. "You're 21, aren't you, Sam?" He nodded.

"Yeah, I'll take one," Dean agreed.

"Me, too," said Sam.

She handed three bottles to Dean. "Do you mind?"

"Nope." He held all three long-necks easily in one hand. "Do you want me to get yours and Sam's, too?"

He grinned at her.

"You're hilarious," she deadpanned.

Dean nodded in satisfaction. _Yes. Yes, I am._

* * *

In the television room, the boys had already staked out their spots—Michael in an easy chair to the side, Tommy at one end of the couch, and Jacob on the floor. Jo walked around the room, pausing at each child and dumping a pile of clothes on top of him, emptying her basket a third at a time.

"Fold, please."

There was half-hearted grumbling, but the boys started folding immediately.

"So, what's the movie?" Michael asked Tommy.

Tommy reached under the seat cushion beneath him and produced the DVD with a flourish. "The Mummy!"

Dean nodded his approval. "Recent? Or classic?" He liked both.

"Recent," said Michael. "It's awesome."

"Hot librarian," remembered Dean. "Good choice."

Tommy beamed.

Dean sat down on the floor, leaning back against the couch.

"Boys, there are going to be a couple of adults who are going to need seats."

All three boys looked at Dean like they weren't quite sure Jo was talking about him. And evidently, Sam. Dean was as surprised as they were.

Dean started to protest, but Tommy had already clambered to the middle of the couch.

"You can sit up here, Dean," he exclaimed. He was pulling his pile of clothes with him.

Shrugging his acceptance, and frankly not willing to risk Jo's disapproval, Dean took Tommy's spot. "Thanks, dude."

Jo took a seat on the other side of Tommy, picking up some mending as she settled in.

"Jacob, honey, do you want to put the movie in?" Jacob grabbed the disc from his brother and got the machine ready to go.

When Sam came in with the popcorn, he put it on the coffee table before dropping to the floor in front of it.

"Michael..."

Michael had already started to rise, but Sam stopped him.

"Thanks, Jo, but really. The floor is more comfortable – I'm too long for those kinds of chairs."

Jo's eyes went to Michael, who had begun to sink back into the chair, his eyes still on his aunt. "Well, OK," she conceded. Michael grinned and flopped down.

The movie started and the popcorn was passed around and clothes were folded. About an hour into the movie, Jo got up and left the room. Fifteen minutes later she was back with another large basket full of clothes. This time she split the load five ways before she sat down. She laughed at the surprised looks on Dean and Sam's faces.

"I brought y'all's up while I was at it."

"Thanks," they said somewhat unenthusiastically.

The movie went on and the folding started up again.

"Whose are these?" Jacob held up a tattered pair of boxers.

Jo looked at the underwear over her glasses and said serenely, "I'm betting that anything you don't recognize belongs to Sam or Dean."

Sam snatched the offending article out of Jacob's hand.

Michael gave Sam a critical look. "Dude. There's this new thing called bleach. You should look into it."

Jacob snickered.

"Yeah, well. My mommy's not still doing my laundry," Sam said haughtily and lobbed a smaller, whiter pair of boxers at Michael.

Dean tossed a ball of three t-shirts at Sam, and sent a small pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and a pair of Underoos arching toward the other boys sitting around the room.

Jo continued to re-attach the buttons on the shirt in her hands as clothes began to fly.

"Gently, please," she said without raising her eyes.

* * *

After the movie, Dean and Sam headed back to their room, Dean with a basket of laundry under his arm.

"If y'all get hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge. Help yourselves whenever you want. Although, with three boys in the house nothing lasts longer than 24 hours at the outside. Consider yourselves warned."

It was early yet, just after 9, but neither felt up to going out, so they played cards for awhile, and then got in bed.

They were both asleep before 10:30.

* * *

The next morning, Dean took the morning shift at the diner while Sam continued work on the room. When Marge arrived, Dean asked Jo a couple of questions trying to figure out where they were headed next in the remodel.

"I've got the list of what we did in the other rooms. You can use that if you want to. But I'm not attached to it or anything. If you have other ideas, I'm open."

Dean nodded.

"Good. I know I've got all that information in my office somewhere."

Dean followed after her, asking aditional questions as they occurred to him. That, in turn, reminded her of other items she needed to tell him. By the time they reached her office, Dean had filled up the scrap of paper he'd been using to write things down.

"Do you have another piece of paper?"

"Oh. Sure." She shuffled through the piles on her desk. "I know I've got some around here somewhere." She opened a drawer, poking around.

Dean wandered around the room, looking at the books on the shelves and pictures on the walls. It didn't look a whole lot like an office—more like what Dean thought of as a "parlor," although he wasn't sure where he'd even gotten that word. There was fireplace on one end of the room, with a worn, but clean area rug in front of it. A sofa with a faded floral problem and a couple of chairs with needle-point seats formed a sitting area. Jo's desk was in a far corner. It had a computer on top and an ancient looking filing cabinet behind it.

Dean walked over to the fireplace and studied the framed photos on the mantel. He could hear Jo still shifting through the stacks and talking under her breath as she searched. He smiled to himself and peered at the pictures. He always liked looking at other people's snapshots. There weren't many pictures of his own family – more now since they'd gone back to Kansas – but still very few since Mom had been killed. There was the picture Sam had picked up from Dad's hotel room in Jericho with the three of them, Sam on Dad's lap, sitting on the hood of that car. Maybe a couple more. Stuck into Dad's journal or maybe with him now. Maybe.

Here there were pictures of the boys at various stages of development – Michael in a football uniform, Jacob aiming at a t-ball, Tommy with cake all over his face and a pre-formed number 3 candle clutched in a chubby fist. There were pictures of an older couple, one at what looked like their wedding, one at what Dean thought might be an anniversary celebration. He could see Jo in the woman, and the grin on the young man at the wedding was all Tommy.

Another photo made him pause. A couple. Young. The man he didn't recognize, but the woman... Dean moved a little closer. Jo. She was smiling up at the man—not much more than a boy, really—pregnant, her hand covering his resting on her swollen belly. He was grinning at the camera. He looked almost dazed with happiness.

"My husband, David."

Startled, Dean turned. She'd joined him without his noticing. Her eyes were on the photograph.

"We were in a car accident a couple of months after that picture was taken. David was killed instantly. I lost the baby." Dean swallowed, unsure what to say. She was quiet for a moment. "Alec would have been 27 this year."

Jo was still looking at the picture, a small, sad smile on her face. "Hard to believe it's been that long," she said.

The silence stretched out between them.

"You look really happy."

Dean said it quietly, throat tight at the thought of her suffering such a loss.

She turned to him, tears in her eyes, but the slight smile deepening. "We were," she said. "He was a good man."

Dean nodded, eyes straying further down the row of pictures. One with the boys and a couple he could only assume were their parents. One of Luke and a woman and a teen-aged boy and girl.

"Is that the sheriff?" He frowned. "I didn't know he was married."

Jo reached out and pulled the picture off the mantel. "He was. Sue died of breast cancer a little over a year ago." Jo ran a sleeve over the glass.

"When was the last time I dusted in here?" she asked herself absently.

Jo put the frame back where it had been.

"I've known Luke practically since we were born. He was best friends with my brother Jack and with David. When Jack and Mary died..." She sighed. "I don't know what I would have done without him and Sue."

Dean watched her silently.

"We have a lot of history, Luke and I." She reached out a finger and touched the picture, first the image of Luke, stiff, but smiling, then Sue, soft expression and curly hair. Jo turned back to Dean. "He's a good man, too."

Not sure what else to do, Dean nodded.

"Well." Moment over. "Here's all the information I thought I had." She handed him a sheaf of papers. "And some blank sheets. Do you need pens or pencils or anything? I know I've got crayons in the kitchen," she offered with a grin.

Dean rolled his eyes at her. "This ought to be fine."

* * *

"Damn, Sammy!" Dean was impressed.

Sam's face lit up at the approval in his brother's voice.

"I got on a roll," he grinned.

"No kidding, man. This is great!" Sam had managed to strip the rest of the wallpaper in the bedroom and had moved on to the alcove into the bathroom. He'd gotten most of it off there, too, except, Dean could see, what disappeared behind the large mirror over the sink.

"I can't get the mirror on my own."

Dean grabbed a screwdriver, and Sam went to hold the mirror. Dean carefully removed the brackets holding the glass to the wall while Sam fought to keep it from falling.

"Got it?' Dean asked as he dropped the tool to the floor by his feet.

"Yeah," Sam grunted. He shifted his grip slightly. "But hurry."

Dean quickly folded one of the tarps that had been left lying around into a cushion for the mirror and headed back to the sink. He took one of the corners and Sam moved to the other. Gently, they eased the mirror down, maneuvering it into the outer room, and leaning it against the wall.

Over the next couple of hours Sam and Dean finished getting the wallpaper off the remaining wall and got started on removing the fixtures around the room. Jo wanted everything to go. And Dean tended to agree. The difference in the quality of the bathroom fixtures in this room and the remodeled ones was striking. Jo had definitely upgraded and Dean thought it was worth it.

As they worked, Dean's mind kept going back to the conversation he'd had with Jo earlier in the day.

"Did you know Jo was married?"

Sam looked at him in surprise. "What? Like now?"

"No, a long time ago. She's a widow."

"Wow." Sam took a minute to digest this. "She's seems young to be a widow." He was sitting on the floor removing plates from around the plugs in the wall. "What happened?"

"Car accident." Dean paused. "She was pregnant. Lost the baby."

Sam made a noise of sympathy. "How'd you find out?"

"She told me. There was a picture of her and her husband in her office."

Sam nodded. He turned to look at Dean. "Tommy said something about his parents dying. In a tornado or something. The boys happened to be spending the night with Jo during the storm and a twister hit the house."

Dean whistled under his breath. "Man," he said softly.

They worked in silence for a bit.

"Luke's wife died of breast cancer last year," Dean said.

"Seriously?" Sam sounded incredulous.

Dean shrugged, sending a long look in his brother's direction. "Almost makes you wonder..." He wasn't exactly sure about what, but it was in his nature to think about possibilities.

Sam turned and Dean saw that his brother's eyes were slightly unfocused, listening, searching... something. Dean waited, unconsciously holding his breath. But Sam's face cleared.

"Nah," Sam said quietly. His eyes, when they met Dean's were sad. "Sometimes life just sucks."

* * *

The next day, Sunday, Jo had declared as a day of rest. She and the boys went to church, and Sam and Dean slept in. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about still being sheltered and fed without doing any work, but Jo had been firm, threatening some sort of unspecified punishment if she caught either of them attempting to work on the rooms.

"It'll be unspeakable, horrific." She paused. "Unimaginable." She'd glowered at Dean over the top of her half-glasses when he'd tried to protest. "God knew what He was doing when He instituted a Sabbath. Go. Rest." And then she'd refused to talk about it any more.

When the family had gotten back from church, there'd been lunch, and the boys playing basketball with Sam – three against one – out in the parking lot. Dean had watched for awhile, joining in long enough to pin Sam's arms to his sides while Tommy took shot after shot in attempt to make a single basket. Sam and Dean had struggled dramatically while Michael and Jacob had shouted encouragement until, finally, the goal was made. Flushed with victory, Tommy had run spastically around the "court," high-fiving everyone, including Sam.

Dean spent the remainder of the day detailing the Impala. She hadn't been in as bad a shape as he'd expected, and Dean had enjoyed the time on his own cleaning her inside and out. As he was finishing, Jo had joined him, sitting on the curb, asking casual questions about where he and Sam had been on their trip around the country. Questions about what he'd liked, what he'd found troubling or touching, the people they'd met. Questions he'd never really considered. Questions he'd surprised himself by answering.

Sam had come up at some point, sitting next to Jo, adding his perspective and sense of humor to whatever tale Dean had been spinning. He and Dean had bounced stories off each other, filling in blanks or ribbing one another as they told edited versions of their adventures on the road. Jo and the boys had listened appreciatively, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. Sam had even told a PG-rated Woman in White story, keeping a wary eye on Jo, making sure he didn't cross any lines. The boys had listened, wide-eyed, Tommy scooting closer to his aunt, who put a comforting arm around his shoulders. But she'd been smiling, entertained by Sam's story.

At the end, Tommy said, "There's no such thing as ghosts, though." But his eyes were a little worried.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, when his brother glanced his way. There was a glint in Jacob's eyes, and he opened his mouth.

"Right," said Sam quickly, cutting off the older boy. Jacob grinned, not pushing his luck.

"Right," Jo agreed. "Like there's no such thing as mummys." She hugged Tommy close. Mummys had been a big concern Friday night.

She gave Tommy a smacking kiss on the top of his head and stood. "Dinner in half an hour, gentlemen."

Dean put up the cleaning supplies, and, along with Sam and Michael, helped set the table, and lay out the meal. After dinner, the boys worked on homework, and Sam and Dean headed back to their room. They made plans for the next day's work and watched television until 10:00, Sam flipping channels until he landed on _Grey's Anatomy_. Dean watched, mocking, while Sam mostly ignored him.

When they turned out the light, Dean lay awake for a long time, listening to Sam sleep and the sound of the occasional car as it roared past them on the highway. He thought maybe he should be ready to get going again. Four days in the same place without a job—a hunt—being involved was almost unprecedented.

Dean had always been pretty content with the life he'd grown up with, the life he'd chosen as an adult. He'd liked the constant motion—new places, new people—never thought he'd missed anything by not staying in one place for long. He'd never understood Sam's obsession with what his brother thought was stable, normal. Safe.

Because in Dean's mind, safe had always been Dad. And Sam. The three of them. Together. That had been all the stability, all the normal, that Dean had ever required. But Sam had wanted something else. No, Dean corrected himself, that wasn't fair. Sam hadn't actually wanted something other than his family. But he'd wanted something more. And Dean had never really gotten that.

He'd tried. Dean really thought he'd tried. And he'd tried to make Sam see Dad's point of view, to see his own point of view – that safety came in knowing the truth. And fighting. But Sam had never gotten that either.

Ultimately, Dean had failed to get through to Sam, and his own sense of safe had cracked when his younger brother had walked out the door for college; and it had shattered almost completely when his father had disappeared. It had been the need for that feeling of safety that had sent Dean after Sam for help. He'd hated acknowledging that he didn't want to look for Dad on his own. But it was Sam and his brother was the only person in the world that Dean had ever risked exposing himself to, even if he didn't do it very often. He'd seen Sam's eyes flicker at the admission—recognition of Dean's need and Sam's own inability to say no to his brother when Dean asked for help.

After Jess's death, Dean had wondered if Sam, grief-stricken and enraged, had been too high a price to pay to have his brother back. But deep down Dean had been relieved. And happy. He'd hurt for Sam, but he'd been happy, too.

He'd done his best not to show it, denying it even to himself most of the time, but the joy Dean felt at being with his brother again had still surfaced on occasion. Dean's jokes and teasing had fallen flat with his brother initially, Sam's ill-humor and frustration with Dean striking home more often than he cared to admit. But they'd ridden it out, and Dean's sense of _safe_ had begun to mend.

There was a part of Dean that still felt the lack of his father. Felt like that was what was needed to make things really right again. But more and more, Sam was enough. The two of them a unit, sufficient in and of themselves.

The last few days had been something else, though. And Dean wasn't sure what to do with that.

It had been easy to become a part of something here. A part of something that Dean recognized, but had never experienced before. Not like this. Comfort and easiness. A new level—a different kind—of safe.

In all his life, Dean had never just wanted a mom like he knew Sam had. Sam, who had never known their mother, had longed for a mother with an intensity that had saddened and amused and sometimes frustrated both his father and his brother.

Dean had only ever wanted his mom. And he'd known, even at four, that no one, ever, was going to be his mom. He'd accepted it, lived with it. But Jo.

Dean rolled over onto his stomach, uncomfortable with the turn his mind was taking. He was a grown man, long past any need for a mother. And yet. There was something about this woman, something familiar and kind, something that touched him deep in a place that he hadn't really known existed, except in his dreams.

When he dreamed of his mother.


	6. Chapter 6

Jo put her book on the bedside table, and reached for the lamp to turn out the light. She hesitated. She'd been thinking about the leftover macaroni and cheese in the fridge for the last 30 minutes. She shouldn't.

No.

She really shouldn't.

She turned out the light and lay there for five minutes.

_Mmmmmm. Mac and cheese._

She sat up, and swung her legs off the bed, fumbling for her slippers. _Oh well._

She could see the kitchen light on from the top of the stairs. _Dang it._ If one of those boys had deprived her...

When she reached the bottom and turned into the kitchen, it was Dean she surprised, sitting at the table, a forkful of macaroni and cheese halfway to his mouth. He startled up out of the chair.

She smiled at him ruefully. "Hey."

"Hey," he said. He looked acutely embarrassed. "I'm sorry." He put the fork down and pushed the bowl away from him a little. "I couldn't sleep, and..." he trailed off.

"And the macaroni and cheese called to you?" she asked, reaching into the cabinet for another bowl. She'd told both Sam and Dean they were welcome to raid the fridge, so she pretended like she didn't notice he was acting like he was guilty of something.

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, still standing awkwardly like he was waiting for her to chastise him.

She opened the fridge and pulled out the casserole dish. She spooned macaroni into her dish. There wasn't much left.

"You want the last of this?" she offered. "No point in leaving it."

Dean blinked, hesitating. Then he nodded, holding out his bowl. She split it between them.

"You want it warmed up?" she asked absently.

"Thanks," he said, sitting down again. "I like it cold."

She smiled, joining him. "Me, too." She hooked a foot around the leg of one of the other chairs, pulling it close. She propped her feet up on it.

"Nice p.j.s."

Jo looked down at her legs. She'd forgotten what she was wearing—a pair of royal blue fleece pajama bottoms plastered with large Tinkerbelles. Her robe covered the top—a t-shirt with a winking Tinkerbelle that said saucily, "In Your Dreams." She was pretty sure that Tommy, the giver of this particular gift, had not gotten the innuendo. Luke, on the other hand, who had taken the boys Christmas shopping for her, had waggled his eyebrows at her when he'd asked how she'd liked her gift.

She took another bite, choosing to ignore the slight smirk on Dean's face.

"Thanks."

The smirk turned into a grin, and he ducked his head back down to his food.

Surreptitiously, Jo watched Dean eat the leftovers as she ate her own. The Winchester boys had been in her house for less than a week, and Jo had a hard time remembering life without them. _How was it possible that she'd come to love them both so much?_

In the years since she'd started the motel, she'd made these kinds of connections with guests before. There were just times when you "clicked" with someone. She kept up with several people who had started as guests and become, almost overnight, fast friends. Emails and Christmas cards and occasional phone calls kept her connected with people who had never seemed like strangers even on first meeting. That was one of the things she loved about her life—meeting new people, hearing their stories, sometimes caring for hurts or sharing joys. She got to see so much through the people who came through her motel.

Jo had been mulling over the stories Dean and Sam had told on Sunday afternoon – the two of them with their father on the road; Sam and Dean on their own, making a path together.

Dean had told one story that was just him and his dad, and the dynamic between the boys had changed completely. Initially, she'd thought Sam's silence came from the fact that he hadn't there. But it was more than that. Sam's eyes had been down, and Dean had studiously avoided his brother's gaze. Normally, Jo had noticed, the boys were constantly in visual contact. She'd never seen two people communicate so effectively just through the looks they gave each other. But when Dean had started in on this story without Sam, they hadn't looked at each other once.

For all their avoidance, though, she'd also realized that they'd been acutely aware of each other. Sam had been almost vibrating, so intently was he focused on Dean. And Dean's voice had softened imperceptibly as he'd talked, his manner and tone strangely gentle, almost apologetic, as he'd negotiated telling the story without Sam's input. Like Sam, Dean had seemed hyper-aware of his brother. Though he'd never so much as glanced at Sam, it had been clear to Jo that Dean's attention had been completely on the young man sitting across from him.

And Jo had wondered.

"It must have been hard when Sam left for school," she said suddenly, questioning.

Dean's eyes came to hers, then dropped back to his bowl. He lifted a shoulder slightly and smiled somewhat wryly.

"Yeah."

Jo didn't pursue it. They ate in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"It was weird," he said suddenly. He looked at her swiftly and away. "Not to have Sam around."

"I bet," she said. "I can't imagine what it will be like when Michael goes, and I've got two more around as back-up."

"Well, Michael will probably call." He said it casually, but there was an underlying _something_ there as well.

Jo had been surprised and it must have shown clearly on her face.

Now Dean looked uncomfortable, and he shifted in the chair. But he didn't retreat. "Dad and Sam had a huge fight the day he left, so..."

"How long did y'all not talk?" she asked quietly.

"We talked some the first couple of years, but he was so pissed at Dad, it just got too hard; so the last two years pretty much not at all."

"Dean, I'm sorry. That must've been..."

But he talked over her. "It was OK. Sam needed to figure out who he was." Dean laughed and rolled his eyes. "Or something. And, you know, Dad and I. We did OK. " He shook his head. "Sam wanted normal. Safe. And I guess..." he trailed off.

_Normal_. Jo could see that. It sounded like their childhood had been hard, fragmented. She knew their mother had died when they were young, and from the stories the boys had told, they'd moved around a lot. But _safe_? Jo found herself troubled by that word. She frowned slightly, but Dean had continued on.

"Sam was always so damn smart, you know? He loved school and teachers loved him, talked about how bright he was, how gifted." She could hear the pride and a certain note of longing in his voice. "We moved around so much and when he got older he always wanted to stay. And we never did. Never could." He shrugged. "It was hard, and it got worse when he got in high school. He blew the top off every test he took, and everyone started talking about colleges and scholarships. And dad..." He was lost in thought, remembering. "Dad didn't want to let him go. Thought he couldn't keep him safe..."

There it was again. _Safe._

"But Sam couldn't see that. He thought he could get something safe, something normal, away from... away from the life we'd been living." He paused. "Away from us."

Jo was confused. And more than a little disturbed. _What had made their life with their father unsafe? Why had it been such an issue with Sam, and apparently not one at all for Dean?_

Dean looked up at Jo. "He applied for college without telling either of us. Took the SATs, paid the application fees, arranged for interviews." There was a certain amount of surprise and hurt in the tone as he said it. Although again, the pride. Like he still couldn't believe that Sam had done that. "He had a place to live and a ticket to California when he told me and Dad."

A significant pause.

"Dad was beyond pissed." _No mention of his own feelings_.

"And scared, I think, now," Dean acknowledged. "But, of course, Dad wouldn't say that. Just went completely ballistic." Dean's face when she glanced at him had gone completely still with the memory.

"They'd gone at it before, but... God," he whispered. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Sam said he was leaving he didn't care what Dad said. Dad said if Sam left he should never come back."

Dean cleared his throat slightly. "And Sam walked out the door."

Jo's own throat was tight at the pain she heard so raw in Dean's voice. He looked at her suddenly, self-conscious that he'd said so much. He looked down quickly again, focusing intently on the remainder of his macaroni and cheese.

Jo didn't say anything in response, just let him collect himself. She wondered how much he'd said of this out-loud to anyone before.

After a couple of minutes she said questioningly, "So, you and your dad stayed on the road?"

Dean cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah. Did jobs, traveled."

"Sounds lonely," she said, without really thinking. It did sound lonely to her—no roots, no connection.

"Sometimes," he allowed quietly.

He met her eyes briefly, giving her a sweet smile she'd never seen before.

"Mostly I liked it, though. Working with my Dad, helping people. I missed Sammy, I guess."

Now the smile was rueful, not wanting to admit it.

She smiled at him in return.

"What changed?"

He cocked his head at her, unsure.

"The two of you together."

"Oh." He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Well, Dad was gone for a couple of days on a hunting trip. I got worried and asked Sam for help finding him. He came and we, uh, found Dad, but when I took him back to Stanford, that's when Jessica had been killed." He stopped abruptly. Jo noticed that he wouldn't meet her eyes. "We just decided to take some time."

There was more to this than he was telling her, she knew. But she wasn't going to press it.

"How's Sam doing with that?"

"Better. He's... dealing."

Jo nodded. "I'm sure it's a help for him to be with you."

Dean looked at her and shrugged. There was something in his eyes that made her heart ache a little. "I don't know. Sam's pretty strong. He doesn't really need me that much."

"I think you're wrong about that."

Dean dropped his gaze. Again with the shrug, focusing on his now empty bowl.

She watched him in silence, debating.

"He adores you. You know that, don't you?"

His head came up, and she saw a flush spread over his cheeks, pleasure and embarrassment.

"He thinks I'm a pain in the ass."

Jo rolled her eyes.

"Well, he's your little brother. Of course he does. But he also follows you around like a puppy." She smiled. "An enormous, teasing, floppy-haired puppy admittedly, but still."

Dean laughed. She could tell he wasn't completely buying what she was selling, but he was thinking about it. Who would have thought that he couldn't see what was so obvious to everyone around him?

Dean stood, taking his bowl to the sink. He grabbed hers on the way, rinsing them both and putting them in the dishwasher.

"Thanks," he said. "See you in the morning."

"Good night, Dean."

Jo sat for awhile, enjoying the quiet and the stillness of the house at night. In the silence, she reflected on the last half hour. There was something about late-night talks—the darkness outside, the safety _inside—_ that seemed to inspire confidences. Her favorite conversations with her nephews always happened sitting on their beds in the dark, listening to them talk about their days—confessions about girls they liked, or teachers they hated, fights and friends, fears and joys—glimpses into their hearts that were sometimes so tender and bittersweet they left her breathless.

She felt a little awed that she'd just had such an encounter with Dean Winchester's heart. And she pondered what, if anything, to do with that knowledge.

* * *

"See?" Dean pointed at the diagram he'd drawn. "See how it will work?"

They were sitting in one of the back booths of the diner, and Dean was explaining the solution he'd worked out regarding the location of a built-in set of bookshelves Jo had asked him to include in the remodel. Both Luke and Jo had been watching the presentation with interest. Jo could see exactly what Dean had planned, and she approved. Luke was nodding as well, and when Jo met his eyes, she could tell he was impressed.

Jo smiled at Dean's pleasure. He was rightfully proud of what he'd come up with and Jo was pleased with it. He'd kept her in the loop as he'd worked out what he wanted to do, and she'd enjoyed listening to him talk through his ideas. She'd wanted Luke to see it because she felt like he had a better eye for these type of things, and Dean had been eager to show it to Sam. Sam had joined them just as Dean was finishing and had listened with a slight smile on his face at Dean's enthusiasm.

But now Sam was shaking his head. "Dude, no one's going to want a bookshelf there. If you build it there..." Sam continued on, ripping to shreds Dean's work and logic. Jo had never heard either of the boys speak to the other that way before. She and Luke exchanged startled looks.

Jo watched the smile on Dean's face falter, hurt and embarrassment flashing into his eyes as his gaze flicked to her and Luke. The grin was back almost as soon as it had been gone, but the light in his eyes didn't return as Sam finished.

"Yeah. Well." He cleared his throat, and shrugged, eyes on the plans in front of him. "It might work." There was an awkward silence as Jo tried to think of something to say. "Well," he said again. "I need to go see..." Dean slid out of the booth, and walked away, jamming his hands in his pockets as he went.

Sam was shaking his head and he rolled his eyes at Jo, trying, she felt, to make her complicit in his humiliation of his brother.

She stood.

"May I talk to you for a minute, Sam?" she said stiffly.

Startled by her reaction, Sam put his mug down. "Uh. Sure."

"In the kitchen." She stalked off.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked Luke uncertainly as he stood.

The sheriff looked at Sam thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I think you are."

* * *

Sam stepped hesitantly into the kitchen behind Jo.

"Sit down, please."

Sam lowered himself into one of the chairs at the table, feeling the pit in his stomach start to grow. He'd witnessed this scene a couple of times already—usually with Jacob. That couldn't be a good sign.

"Do you know how hard your brother worked on the plans for those bookshelves?"

Sam swallowed. He did. Dean had been mumbling over them for a couple of days.

"Do you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then why would you do that?" she asked. "Why would you belittle him in front of Luke? In front of me?"

Jo watched Sam's face fall.

"I didn't mean... I didn't... I was just pointing out that he hadn't thought about..."

"You basically called him stupid and dismissed hours of work he'd done on that project."

"I did _not_ call him stupid!" Sam was indignant. "I..."

"Maybe not in so many words," she cut him off, "but you questioned his logic, his numbers, and his abilities. You certainly made it sound like you didn't think him capable of doing the job." She had her hands on her hips and she was glaring at him.

"You hurt him, Sam."

Sam snorted. "Hurt Dean? How?" He sounded incredulous. "Dean doesn't care what I think," he said. "I'm just _Sammy_ , pesky little brother." He actually sounded petulant. "If he cared about what I thought, he could have asked."

_Good. Lord._

Was he hurt that his brother had worked on this project by himself?

She sighed. "Sam..."

But now Sam had a head of steam going. "Look. You're wrong. Dean couldn't care less what I think. He never has. You don't know him. You don't know _us_." Sam's jaw had set, and his face had hardened. It was a look she'd never seen from him before.

"You don't know anything about my brother and me," he said coldly. _Back off._

"Maybe," she conceded. There was nothing like another person's anger to take the starch out of her own. And she recognized that she'd overstepped. "But Sam..."

He stood, ready to walk out, and she spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Will you listen to me for just a second?"

He paused, not looking at her.

"You're right. I have no idea what your history is with your brother. But I know what I've seen the last few days. I know what I've heard when Dean talks about you." She kept her voice deliberately steady, and waited for a second until she knew she had his attention.

"And if you think that Dean doesn't care what you think, you're doing your brother and yourself a real disservice, Sam. I honestly don't know that there's much Dean does care about except you—what you think and how you feel."

Now Sam's eyes came around to her. There was no acknowledgement of what she'd said there.

"But you should realize that he needs to know that you respect him, the same way you want him to respect you. If you think that he doesn't, you're not paying attention."

The set look on Sam's face shifted subtly. He nodded tightly before he walked out the back door.

* * *

Jo went out front and found Luke still seated at the booth. She slid in and looked at him.

"So, how'd that go Mama Bear?" he asked.

She put her head down on the table.

"Will you have dinner with us tonight?" she asked plaintively.

"Coward."

* * *

Luke, of course, had pity on her and showed up a few minutes early to start grilling. She didn't know why she felt like she needed a buffer so badly, but she was dreading facing Sam again. She hated that she'd jumped into the middle of things so thoughtlessly. Sam and Dean were not her children; they didn't need or want her to negotiate their squabbles. She'd just... Gah. She hated this.

Dean entered the kitchen first, Sam following slowly behind. Jo was setting the table.

"Hey, look." Dean pulled out the piece of paper he used to make his careful plans. He spread it out in front of her. "Look. Sam had a couple of ideas that I think are really going to work."

Jo put down the knives and forks she'd been placing around the plates. Dean's voice was excited, and when she looked over at him, he was grinning.

He pointed to a couple of places. "See if we change this—here and here—we can add a little more room, and make it more convenient from the bed."

Jo risked a hesitant glance at Sam, who was still standing by the door, leaning back against the wall. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, and his eyes were on Dean. When he realized Jo was watching him, he turned somber eyes to her.

"Well, I think... I think that sounds fine," she said softly. Sam gave her a tight-lipped smile, and she could see the apology in his eyes.

She smiled her acknowledgement and an apology of her own.

Sam nodded and pushed off from the doorjamb. "You want me to finish that?" he asked, reaching for the silverware she'd put down.

"Yes, thank you, Sam." She reached out and squeezed his forearm.

"Dean, will you take the meat out to Luke?" Dean folded up the plans and grabbed the plate as the younger boys tumbled into the room.

"Sure."

* * *

A few days later, Jo had finally found someone to take Carol Anne's place, so Sam and Dean were switching to working full time on renovating the rooms. She found herself missing having one of them around, but shook it off, reminding herself that they'd be gone completely sooner than she liked to think about.

The hiring process had been complicated by the fact that the Tommy had brought home a fairly stubborn flu that he'd shared with his brothers and Jo. She'd had two or three of them home over the last several days even as she'd sniffled and coughed and ached her way through their care. All three were back in school today, and while she was still tired, she knew she was pretty much well herself. She was just thankful she'd had a mild case.

When Sam and Dean came in for breakfast, she watched them shuffle over to a table, Dean in the lead, Sam close behind, almost stepping on his brother's heels. He was bent over, saying something to his brother that Dean shrugged off with an irritated glance.

"Dude, stop," she heard as she approached with coffee.

"Mornin'," she said.

Sam smiled at her. "Mornin'."

Dean reached for his mug, grunting.

Jo raised an eyebrow at the non-greeting.

"Everything OK?"

Dean was nodding even as Sam said, "Dean's sick."

"Sam. Shut up." Jo could hear the congestion thick in Dean's voice. He coughed.

She turned to the older boy.

"You think you caught what the kids had?"

Dean shrugged.

"I think he has a fever," Sam contributed.

Dean glared at his brother, growling low in his throat. He coughed again.

Not thinking, Jo put the order pad down and reached out to lay a hand on Dean's forehead. He startled at the contact, but let her leave her palm there for a couple of seconds. She removed her hand from his head and pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. He did feel warm.

"I think you might," she said.

"I don't." Short.

Jo glanced at Sam who grimaced and shrugged. But Jo could see that there was worry there as well.

"I have a thermometer in the kitchen. Come on back. It'll only take a second."

Dean stayed seated. Stubborn.

Jo watched him thoughtfully. She'd really tried not to play the "Mom card" with either of the Winchester boys—almost catastrophic incident with Sam aside. For one thing, obviously, she wasn't their mother. For another, they weren't children. And finally, she suspected that Dean particularly wouldn't respond very well to any attempt to mother him. She wasn't sure why, but there'd been something about him that had said, _Don't_. As she'd gotten to know the brothers, she'd begun to understand the reason for that, and she'd respected it—kept things friendly, maybe sisterly, but not motherly.

She wondered now though what would happened if she pulled out the big guns with him.

"Did I say something to make you think that was a request?" she asked quietly.

There was a sudden stillness at the table as both boys froze at her tone.

Dean's eyes flicked over to her, and she looked back at him steadily, stepping to one side so that he had a clear exit from the booth.

Without saying a word, Dean slid over, and stood up. He didn't look at her as he passed her and made his way back to the kitchen.

Jo looked over at Sam, meeting his wondering gaze. "Wow."

She couldn't help but laugh. Sam moved to get up as well, but Jo put out a hand to stop him.

"Why don't you let me see what I can do? With two of us, he might feel like we're ganging up on him."

Sam back into the booth, nodding. "He's so pissed at me right now, anyway, I doubt I'd be any help."

Jo turned to go and then looked back.

"He mentioned being sick when y'all first got here," she said hesitantly. "What...? Should I be looking for anything?" She sounded fearful even to herself.

Sam looked at her, surprised. "He told you that?"

"Just briefly. Said he'd been sick, and you were worried abut him."

Sam's glance went out the window. "It was his heart," he said softly. Jo was stunned.

"His heart? But..."

"He got... electrocuted," Sam's voice cracked on the word, "a few weeks ago. It damaged his heart. Really bad." He swallowed convulsively. "They told us he was going to die."

Jo felt like the breath had left her body.

"Sam," she whispered.

"I took him to a faith healer," Sam admitted. "He was so mad." An unsteady laugh. "But he was healed." His eyes went to Jo. She could only stare.

"I know that a cold isn't going to... Won't..." He couldn't seem to complete the sentence. "I just..."

She nodded, reaching out a hand and pressing her palm to his cheek. His eyes slid shut at the contact and the comfort.

"We'll get him well, Sam."

* * *

Dean was standing against the counter when she came into the room. Arms crossed over his chest, he was staring at his shoes. _Ah, the male ego_ , she thought, knowing full well that he felt horrible and probably wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his bed. Or at least sit down.

She ignored his sulking and crossed to the drawer where she kept her downstairs medical supplies.

"Sit down," she said calmly, pulling out the thermometer.

He went over to the kitchen table and dropped into a chair.

"I'm fine," he said.

She looked at him. "I'll tell you what. If your temperature is under 100, I'll leave you alone and you can do whatever you want. If it's over 100, we'll talk."

"Can you get Sam off my back?"

"If it's under 100, I'll tell Sam to lay off," she agreed. Jo had no doubt his temperature was over 100. His skin had been warm enough, and he had a slight flush that concerned her a little.

Dean sighed and acquiesced. He turned his head toward her and she put the electronic thermometer in his ear.

It beeped.

102.5.

She showed it to Dean.

"Dammit."

She chuckled. "Watch your language."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Honey, I'm sorry." And she was.

Exposed, Dean slumped in his chair, putting his head down on the table. "I feel like crap."

Now she laughed outright. _For heaven's sake._

She went back to the drawer and pulled out the flu medicine she had left from her own bout with whatever bug this was.

"Hold out your hand."

He did and she put a couple of gelcaps in his hand.

"Take these and then go back to bed."

Dean eyed the pills.

"I've worked sicker than this," he said. She could tell he didn't want to, but felt like he should.

He tossed back the pills and rested his head on his folded arms again.

"Dean. The best thing you can do is get well. And you'll get well faster if you rest and take care of yourself."

He made a groggy scoffing noise.

She considered. "And you know Sam's worried about you."

Not so much with the scoffing this time. Although there was a bout of coughing that brought tears to his eyes. Jo rubbed his back trying to soothe the convulsions.

"He'll feel better if he knows you're going to let yourself heal."

Dean sighed and struggled to his feet.

"OK."

"Good."

He looked at her resignedly. "Any way you can get Sam off my case?"

She smiled. "I'll do what I can," she promised.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam looked up as Jo approached the booth. Dean was not with her.

She sat down across the table from him.

"102.5," she said.

"That's not good, is it?"

"It's not great. But, not too bad, either." She smiled at him. "He's gone back to bed."

"Really?" Sam was impressed.

Jo waggled her eyebrows at him.

Laughing, Sam moved to get out of the booth.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To check on him."

Jo reached out a hand, pausing him.

"Honey, I get that you're worried, but how do you think he's going to respond to that?"

Sam hesitated. _Not well._

"Let him be," she said gently. "He's sick and he's frustrated and he just wants to sleep. Don't poke at him."

Sam knew she was right, but he didn't like it. He huffed out a breath.

"Yeah, OK." He settled back in.

She smiled at him.

"Good. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

* * *

Sam spent the morning stripping paper off the walls in the second room. He had to stop himself several times from just slipping next door to check on Dean. It was surprisingly lonely work without his brother. He'd worked on his own several days before, but he hadn't realized what a difference it made knowing that Dean would be coming for the afternoon. He missed him.

Around noon he knocked off for lunch. Before going to the diner, he stuck his head into their room to see if Dean needed anything, but his brother was still asleep. Sam stood over the bed looking down at his sibling. He could see the flush of fever on Dean's face and he reached out, unconsciously mimicking Jo, laying the backs of his fingers gently against his brother's cheek. He could feel the heat against his own skin, and Dean stirred restlessly under Sam's touch. Quickly, Sam stepped back, holding his breath, hoping Dean would quiet.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was a rasp, and Sam bent down.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me." Unable to stop himself, he reached out and adjusted the covers over his brother. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," he said hoarsely.

Sam laughed low in acknowledgment. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry?"

Dean made a noise that seemed to indicate disgust at the idea. The sound caught in his throat, and he started to cough.

"You want some water?"

Unable to respond in words, Dean nodded jerkily, body struggling with the coughs that racked him.

Sam went to the bathroom, filling up a glass from the tap. He handed it to Dean who had sat up awkwardly in the bed after the fit abated.

"Here."

Sam sat on his own bed while Dean drank and reached out to steady the glass as Dean put it down on the table. Dean slid back down in the bed, turning his back on Sam and pulling the covers up over his shoulders.

"You OK for now?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered, clearly exhausted.

Sam picked up the glass and took it to the bathroom, refilling it. He put it back on the table. He hesitated, wanting to ask again if Dean was alright.

"Go the hell away, Sammy."

Sam closed the door softly behind him.

* * *

"Did you check on him?"

Jo put a glass of water in front of him, and offered a menu. Sam shook his head at the menu.

"Yeah."

"How's he doing?"

"OK, I guess. He was asleep when I went in, but he woke up for just a minute. He coughed really hard and I gave him some water. He said he didn't want anything to eat."

Jo nodded.

"Do you want anything?"

"Cheese burger, fries."

"Something green?"

Sam grimaced at her, and she grinned.

"Lime jello?" he suggested.

She stared at him.

"Fine. Green beans."

Jo put his order in and came back.

"I'll check his temperature again in a couple of hours. Take him something easy to eat. Mostly he's going to want to sleep, and that's probably what's best for him."

Sam nodded his acceptance of this.

"I need to get some things from the hardware store this afternoon, if that's OK."

"Do you want the truck?"

"Might as well. The new sink and toilet should've been in yesterday."

"You know where the keys are," she said.

* * *

Sam put the pickup in reverse and, putting his arm back over the seat, turned to check his path.

"Sam!" Sam jumped as four palms slapped against the driver's side window. Jacob's and Tommy's faces were pressed against the glass, framed by their hands.

"Can we go?" they shouted.

Sam cranked down the window. "Back up, you morons," he said sharply. "I could have run over your feet." They shifted a couple of inches.

"Are you going to town? Can we come?" Tommy was bouncing up and down in anticipation.

"It's OK with me if it's..."

"Go check..." Jacob ordered his brother even as he tore around the hood of the truck.

"I'll go!" Tommy shouted over Jacob's instructions, making a dash for the back door.

Sam reached over to unlock the door to the passenger side, and Jacob jerked it open, climbing in.

"Sam?" Jo was calling from the porch as Tommy ran for the truck. Sam waved at her.

"Boys! You mind Sam, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am!" they called.

"You're in the middle," Jacob said, refusing to move and forcing Tommy to climb over him.

"OK," said the younger boy, a small, bony knee grinding into his brother's thigh as he scrambled in.

"Hey! OW!"

Sam caught Jacob's wrist before the kid could shove his brother onto the floorboard.

"He...!"

"Next time, move over," Sam said easily as Tommy settled between them.

"Sorry, Jakey, I didn't mean to."

"Stop calling me 'Jakey,'" the older boy grumbled.

"Sorry, Jake," said Tommy apologetically.

"Put your seatbelts on."

* * *

Sam enjoyed the ride. He and Jacob bickered good-naturedly over radio stations until Sam pulled out Dean's "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cake hole" rule and landed on the local country station. Like there were even any other choices.

It was a long, straight stretch of blacktop that got them into town. Without even thinking about it, Sam had already adopted the customary greeting drivers in this part of the country used. Left elbow resting on his open window, right hand at twelve o'clock on the wheel, Sam lifted a forefinger from the steering wheel at each passing pickup. Traffic was sparse, but Sam was still surprised how many faces he recognized in the cars they passed.

Tommy and Jake were discussing something about an upcoming basketball game and Michael's chances of getting to start. Both boys clearly felt that their oldest brother was in danger of being robbed of his rightful place on the squad because of some kid named "Junior" who was only being played because his father had been All-State at some point in the distant past. Jake was outraged and Tommy's wide-eyed agreement with everything he said only served to increase Jake's sense of injustice.

Sam smiled, looking over the boys. He'd been like this with Dean once.

_When had that changed?_

His confrontation with Jo about Dean had weighed on him over the last few days. When he'd stormed out of the kitchen that afternoon, he'd spent almost an hour stalking down the road and back, trying to work out his anger over Jo's interference and a rising sense of guilt over how he'd treated his brother.

He'd wanted Jess so much in those moments it had been a physical pain. He'd needed her. Needed her to let him talk out his frustration and confusion. Needed her calming presence and thoughtful questions. She'd always let him vent, let him get everything out of his head so that he could make sense of his thoughts and his feelings. God, he'd missed her. But there'd been nothing he could do except try to still his racing thoughts through sheer physical exertion.

After he'd settled down some, Sam had gone back to the room and found Dean bent over his plans at the table next to the window. His brother had sent him one quick look and returned his attention to the paper in front of him.

"Hey," Sam had said softly.

Dean had simply grunted in response.

Sam had moved over to the beds, tossing his keys on the desk, before he'd dropped onto the bed closest to his brother. He'd opened the computer and made some entries into the electronic journal he's started keeping. The two men had worked in awkward silence for awhile.

"So, the plans look good."

Dean's snort and the fact that he'd refused to look Sam in the eye told Sam his brother didn't believe him.

"I know you think they're crap, Sam," Dean had said shortly.

"Dean..."

"It doesn't matter," Dean had crumpled the page in frustration and tossed it at the trash can.

"Dude..." Sam caught the wadded up ball in mid-air.

"Let it go, Sam." Dean got up and snatched his jacket off the chair. "I'm going out."

"Dean, wait. Look, I'm sorry." Dean hadn't paused, and he reached for the door knob. "I was giving you a hard time. I didn't mean..."

"It doesn't matter, Sam."

"It does, man. Come on." He'd started to straighten out the ball. "I was being an asshole, OK?"

Dean had paused then. He turned back to his brother. "Yeah you were," he agreed, standing where he was.

Sam smoothed out the paper on the bed. He looked up at Dean.

"How big a girl are you going to be about this?" he asked with a smirk.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother. "You're a girl," he said darkly.

Sam grinned. "Come on. Show me." He scooted the piece of paper toward Dean. With a grudging look, Dean had joined his brother and started to explain.

When he'd really looked at what Dean had drawn, Sam _had_ been impressed. Dean's specs had been almost professional, well-thought out, precise. Sam's own suggestions had been minor, but Dean had included them without hesitation, readily acknowledging the benefit of the changes.

Sam had been surprised at Dean's generosity, but if he'd been honest with himself, had he not been looking for it on Jo's suggestion, Sam would have taken Dean's acceptance of his suggestions completely for granted.

In the months since he'd been traveling with his brother, Sam was realizing that he'd held onto old patterns and resentments that weren't necessarily true anymore. In Rockford, he'd accused his brother of bossing him around. But more and more, as he thought about it, as he considered his relationship with his brother as they'd been traveling, he realized that a lot of that had changed. But Sam hadn't been able to see that. Until now.

Jo's challenge had been hard to ignore. It was making him re-evaluate a lot of things, too many, it felt like, for him to get a handle on.

A couple of days had passed while Sam tried to process everything in his head. He was beyond frustrated. It was no use trying to talk through things with Dean. His brother would either accuse him of being a chick or would close down, uneasy and frustrated himself with his inability to provide his little brother with the answers Sam needed. Sam was increasingly desperate for someone to talk to.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sam blurted it out before he could reconsider.

Jo was filling salt shakers again, making as much as she could of the time between opening and the pre-school breakfast crunch.

"Sure." Jo eyed the bottle in front of her.

"You said that I should realize that Dean needs to know that I respect him, like I want him to respect me and that if I didn't think he doesn't I'm not paying attention."

Jo stopped mid-pour.

"I just mean... what did you mean? Did you mean I can't see that he needs me to respect him? Or that I can't see that he respects me?" Sam watched her earnestly.

Jo eyed him cautiously. She was deciding how much to say.

"Both, I guess," she said hesitantly.

Sam nodded, relieved.

"I think... I think I haven't really seen how things have changed, you know? I was so focused on myself because of Jess and Dad and I just didn't realize that Dean wasn't treating me like a little kid any more. Sometimes anyway. I mean, he still acts like I'm five too much, but..."

It had poured out of Sam, and Jo had stood steady under the onslaught. When the flood of words had slowed, she'd asked questions and let Sam talk through his answers, responding gently to Sam's own questions and uncertainties. The conversation had happened in fits and starts as they'd served customers and bussed tables, but by the end of the morning, Sam had felt like a weight had been lifted his shoulders.

That had been just a couple of days ago. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to either of the brothers Dean had been coming down with Tommy's flu bug about that time, and he'd been grumpy and bossy with his little brother, threatening Sam's new-found resolve to interact with Dean as a fellow adult.

It had almost come to the point of blows just the night before. Sam had actually risen in his chair, his intent clear on his face, when Jo had entered the kitchen, taking the fight out of both brothers. Sam had settled back in his chair with a scowl at Dean, who'd relaxed the stance he'd assumed, even in his chair, at Sam's sudden movement. Dean had made one last attempt at riling Sam before Jo put a stop to the teasing with an dry comment comparing Dean's maturity level to Jacob's. Then it had been Dean's turn to scowl.

When Sam had realized this morning that Dean was sick, he'd felt the pall that had begun to lift over the last weeks settle over him again. The opportunity to make Dean's life uncomfortable in his illness would have been the perfect payback for the last few days if Sam hadn't been so worried.

_It's just the flu. It's just the flu._

Jo's concern, but steady, common-sense reaction to his brother's fever and coughing had settled Sam down. Was it weird, he wondered, to be so relieved at 23 to have someone step in and take over? Someone who knew where a thermometer was and could make Dean use it?

"Hey, Sammy?" Tommy asked.

"What, Tom?" Sam responded.

The boy giggled. "Sam, I mean."

Sam smiled at him. "What, kiddo?"

"Can we get a milkshake after we pick up the stuff from the hardware store?"

"Sure."

* * *

They'd picked up the new fixtures and milkshakes and made it back by mid-afternoon. Michael had been there to help Sam unload, and they'd gotten the toilet and the sink manhandled into the bathroom.

After dinner, Sam took the milkshake he'd gotten for Dean into their room. His brother was curled under the covers.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah." Dean rolled over toward Sam.

"I brought you something."

"Yeah?" The congestion made his voice thick, and he sounded exhausted, but he was struggling upright.

Sam held out his offering.

Dean took it gingerly. "Vanilla?"

"Yep."

"Dude. Thanks."

Sam sat down on the bed next to his brothers and watched Dean eat the milkshake. It seemed to be slow going, but it was clear that the ice cream was a relief to Dean's sore throat.

"Have you eaten anything else today?"

Dean sent Sam a vaguely exasperated glance.

"Jo brought me some soup earlier," he said tiredly.

Sam nodded. "Good." He paused. "Did you eat it?"

The glare was no longer vague.

"Some of it, OK?" He put the Styrofoam cup on the bedside table. "Go away, _mom_ ," he said.

Sam ignored his brother's petulance and peered into the half empty container. "Do you want me to save this?"

Dean had been reaching for the remote, but a round of coughing stopped him. Sam reached out, patting him on the back until Dean shrugged his hand away. His face was thunderous as he fought to catch his breath.

"Jeez, Sam, stop touching me!"

"Fine," Sam snapped. He snatched what was left of the milkshake off the table. "I'll put this in the freezer. You can ask Jo for it if you want it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The door crashed satisfyingly against the doorjamb as Sam left the room.

* * *

Dean finally regained his breath, such as it was, and lay back against the pillows. His head was pounding from the jarring it had taken, and his chest and throat felt like they were on fire. He wiped a hand over his eyes, smearing the wetness away. He looked regretfully at the bedside table wishing that Sam had left the milkshake there for him.

_Damn._

He was contemplating getting out of bed, when the door swung open again. Without looking at his older brother, Sam stalked across the room to the bathroom, and Dean could hear the sound of water running from the tap. The faucet turned off, and Sam returned, walking stiffly around the corner of the bed, forcefully setting a glass of water on the table next to his brother.

"Thanks," Dean acknowledged, somewhat contritely.

Sam just grunted as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Dean took a couple of sips from the tumbler, appreciating the coolness as it soothed his throat. He was careful as he swallowed, wary of his sensitive airway. The slightest irritation seemed to set off painful coughing episodes and after the last one, Dean was too worn out to risk it.

He put the cup back on the table. Fumbling for the remote, he slid down under the covers. Curling onto his side, Dean found a position that allowed him to see the television without having to hold his aching head upright. Listlessly, he flipped through the channels until he found something he could tolerate. He set the remote to the side, and tucking a hand under his cheek watched Oprah interview someone through heavy eyelids.

He hated being sick. Usually he could just power through any bug he happened to catch. He really believed that if he just denied it long enough whatever germ had a hold of him would give up and go away. It had worked plenty well up until now.

He blamed Jo and her thermometer for his sudden failure to beat this flu.

And Sam.

Just because.

Dean knew he'd been a complete jackass to his brother the last few days. He'd felt the flu start, and he'd taken all his frustration out on Sam. Unfortunately, Sam seemed to have decided to be an adult right about the time Dean himself had opted to behave like a four-year-old. How annoying was that? He'd gained a certain amount of satisfaction the night before by calling his brother "Sammy" and telling stories about how chubby he'd been until the veneer of maturity had cracked and Dean had been sure his brother was going to come across the table at him. Dean smiled to himself. He really was kind of glad that Jo had walked in at that point because given how bad he felt, Dean was sure that Sam would have kicked the crap out of him.

He sighed. He'd have to figure out a way to make it up to Sam. Without actually apologizing.

Oprah was over and Dean was only half-way aware of what came on next. No one was yelling loud enough to disturb him, and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Dean. Look at me, honey." Jo's voice was completely calm.

Jo could see the panic in Dean's eyes. It mirrored the look in Sam's eyes when he'd run into the kitchen, frantic. _It's Dean. He can't breathe. He..._ Jo had dashed out of the room, Sam on her heels. She'd found Dean gasping for air, doubled over the bed, hands flailing, trying to grab hold of something, anything that would get oxygen into his lungs.

"Dean!" She sat on the bed, put both hands on Dean's face. Wild eyes came to hers, the breath hitching uncontrollably, alternating between weak, hoarse coughs, and desperate gasps for air. He looked frighteningly blue around the lips.

"You're having a panic attack, sweetheart. You're hyperventilating." Dean's head rolled in her hands, eyes searching for something. Sam, she realized.

"Look at me, Dean. You need to calm down." Her fingers tightened on Dean's cheeks. When Dean's eyes finally came to hers, she said softly, "Sam."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jo caught sight of Sam leaping forward, anxious hands scrubbing on his jeans.

Keeping her eyes on Dean, she said to Sam, "Honey, go turn on the shower. Hot as you can get it." She was hoping the steam would ease the congestion in Dean's chest. "Then come back over here and sit on that bed, there."

Dean made a sound of confusion as his brother left the room, hands grappling with the sheets, actions incoherent in his distress. His eyes left Jo's, trying to follow Sam, his breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

"Dean look at me. He's coming right back, sweetheart. He'll be back." She hated to separate them, but she needed Sam's help. And she wanted Dean's attention on her.

"Take hold of my wrists, Dean." Dean's head had dropped as he struggled with his breath and she hunkered down, still trying to catch his eyes. "Look at me. Come on, honey. Look at me. Grab my wrists."

Painfully, Dean's head came up and his eyes rolled to hers, white showing around the hazel. His chest was moving in shallow heaves, the congested, labored sound of his breathing scaring her.

"Dean." She said it sharply, making it a command. "Take my wrists."

And he responded, long fingers wrapping tightly around her wrists, surprising her with their strength. His eyes fixed desperately on hers.

"Good, good. That's my boy, you got it." She smiled as encouragingly as she could, hoping that the fear that had her heart pounding in her chest wasn't showing on her face. "Now I want you to try to breathe with me. Breathe in and breathe out when I do." She was nodding at him, and Dean's head moved jerkily with hers. "OK, here we go."

Jo could hear the sound of the shower running in the next room, pouring steam out of the door into the bedroom. She took a slow deep breath and watched as Dean did his best to mimic her, shuddering with the effort to draw air into his tortured lungs. Coughing helplessly as his breath caught.

"That's OK, it's OK. You're doing good, honey, good. A little more in. Good. Now out." She exhaled, and managed not to wince as his grip on her wrists tightened as he struggled to blow out when his body was demanding more oxygen.

"Good, now in." He drew in a labored, rasping breath.

"Now out." He exhaled haltingly.

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

Dean's eyes had closed as he fought to draw the breath in and out of his body. Jo murmured encouragement to him, trying not to distract him. His fingers remained wrapped around her wrists, but she felt his grip loosen slightly as he re-gained control.

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

Slowly, Dean's breathing evened out, steadying.

His hands dropped back to the bedclothes, and his eyes flickered open, watching Jo, continuing to breathe in-sync with her. Her hands were still on his face although she'd loosened her hold somewhat, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. Sam had joined them and was sitting still, on the bed next to them.

For several minutes, there was only the sound of the shower running, and Dean's slow shallow breathing.

"That's it, baby," she said gently. "You've got it." She moved one hand from his cheek to a shoulder, and with the other, smoothed his hair with gentle fingers. He nodded unsteadily. Painfully, he brought his arms up, wrapping them around his chest, tears starting to slide down his cheeks, a belated reaction to the panic and pain.

Without thinking, Jo moved forward, pulling him close. And Dean, exhausted beyond resistance, leaned into her.

"You're OK. You're going to be OK." She murmured the words into his hair, wrapping her arms around him, soothing, calming.

A movement to her left made her turn her head to see Sam moving closer, reaching out a hand to touch his brother's knee. His face was pale, and his eyes sought Jo's looking for reassurance. She nodded, smiling at him.

"He's going to be fine." She kept one arm around Dean, but reached out to Sam, as well, rubbing a hand over his shoulder as he came close. Sam nodded, believing her, but still unsettled.

In the doorway stood her three nephews, faces as pale as Sam's. Tommy clutched Jacob's hand, and for once the older boy didn't brush off his younger brother, not seeming to mind having something to hold onto himself. Michael stood slightly behind his brothers.

"He's going to be fine." She smiled at them, and they stepped gingerly into the room, Michael gently steering the two other boys in. They approached the beds, pressing close to Sam.

Jo felt Dean start to ease away from her and she helped him lean back. He was breathing carefully, clearly conscious of every ounce of air that he drew in and out of his body. She reached out and pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek again. He was cool and a little clammy, face gray.

"I'm calling the doctor."

Sam and Dean exchanged weary glances.

"We don't have the money, Jo," Sam said quietly.

"I'll take care of it."

"Jo." Sam shook his head, eyes straying to Dean, still and watching. "We can't..."

"I'm not asking, Sam. If you feel like you have to pay me back, that's fine. But I'm calling the doctor."

While they'd been talking, Tommy had climbed onto the foot of bed, inching up toward Dean. Jo caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but smile. He was her cuddler, always seeking and giving physical comfort to the people he loved.

"Baby, move back, OK? Let's give Dean some space." Tommy stopped his slow crawl.

"There may be nothing the doctor can do, but his breathing is worrying me." Jo was addressing Sam, and Dean seemed content to let the two of them work it out.

Jo watched Sam turn to study his brother. Dean's breathing was shallow and fairly rapid as he struggled to get enough oxygen into his congested lungs. There were dark circles under his eyes as they met Sam's.

"We'll pay you back."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a reminder, this all started right after _Faith_ , so Dean and Sam haven't talked to John yet, in this universe.

The doctor's diagnosis had been pneumonia. While it was serious, he'd been willing to let Dean avoid the hospital. Doctor Jones had given Jo and Sam detailed instructions on the care Dean would need as he healed.

"I'll drop the scrip off at the pharmacy on my way back to the office. You should be able to pick it up later this afternoon, Josephine," the doctor said as she accompanied him to his car. "He's young and strong. He should be fine."

"Thanks, Doc. If you'll send me the bill, I'll..."

"No charge, Josephine."

"Rob..."

He looked at her seriously. "Those boys flirt as sweetly with my Sarah as they do any of those high school girls." He smiled. "That's worth a lot."

And Jo understood.

Sam's first morning working the early shift, he'd waited on the doctor and his daughter. Sarah Jones had been born with Down's syndrome, and at 29, was a fixture in the community. She worked as a crossing guard at the local elementary school and ate breakfast with her father at the diner a couple of times a week.

Sarah had been among the first to fall under the spell of the Winchester brothers. Jo had watched with interest as Sam had interacted with Sarah and her father. He'd been unfailingly kind, asking questions and paying close attention to Sarah's rambling conversational style. When breakfast was over, Sam had accepted an enthusiastic hug with what appeared to be genuine pleasure and an open smile.

The Joneses had returned a couple of days later, and Dean had been on duty. Sarah had asked after Sam, clearly disappointed to have missed him. Not to be outdone by his younger brother, Dean had turned on a surprisingly innocent version of the charm he used to such effect. Jo had been startled at the change—his voice lightened and his eyes widened. Even his face altered slightly, edges easing, softening. It had been like he'd lost 5 years, and Jo had been struck by how young he really was. Unaware of Jo's attention, Dean had teased Sarah gently, eliciting giggles and smiles and by the time breakfast was over, Sarah would have been hard-pressed whether to choose Sam or Dean.

Jo had kept an eye on the doctor, too, careful to gauge his reaction. But Rob Jones had not seemed to mind in the least. He'd watched the exchanges with a smile, leaning across the table to listen to his daughter whenever the boys walked off.

Jo looked at the doctor now, and nodded her appreciation.

"I'll check back with y'all tomorrow. But call me if you have any questions." He smiled again. "You can tell Dean that Sarah will be praying for him."

Jo laughed. "Powerful stuff," she said.

"You know it."

When Jo went back into the room, Dean was sitting propped against the headboard. All three of her nephews—having been specifically banned from the room while the doctor was there—had converged on Dean, while Sam sat by, looking a little dazed.

"How did y'all get in here?" She'd only been gone a couple of minutes.

"You said we had to stay away when Dr. Jones was here," Jacob said accusingly.

"Yes, but..."

"He's gone now."

"Well, yes..."

"We brought Dean the DVD player while he's sick," Michael said. For some reason he'd brought the machine over to Dean at the bed and was actually showing it to him.

"I brought him some books, too." Tommy had gotten on the bed and was kneeling next to Dean. He'd placed a small stack of beginning reader chapter books on Dean's lap, and it was toppling slowly over, books sliding across the bed. "Maybe we could..."

"I told him that you'd make him whatever he wants to eat, cuz that's what you do for us and you make really good chicken soup for me when I'm sick and..." Jake was staring up at her, intent on his own contribution.

Jo blinked, struggling to get her bearings. If Sam was dazed, Dean looked nearly catatonic, the energy and enthusiasm of the younger boys overwhelming all three adults.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jo raised her voice to be heard over the noise. She put a hand to her forehead. "Boys, I need you to settle down, OK? Michael, why don't you go put that with the TV? Can you hook it up on your own?"

The chatter subsided, and Jake went to "help" his older brother get the DVD player attached to the television.

"Baby, why don't you hand me those books." She reached out both hands. "And get off the bed, OK?" Tommy slithered down. "Will you put them on the dresser?" She handed the stack of books back to her youngest. "I don't think Dean feels up to reading right now."

"I could read to him." Tommy piled the books on the dresser. Jo sent Dean an apologetic look, and he smiled weakly at her.

"Thanks, kiddo," he said hoarsely. "Maybe later."

"'kay." Tommy leaned against Jo, watching Dean uncertainly.

She put an arm around him, stroking a hand over his hair. She smiled down at him.

There was some muttering behind the television, but finally Michael and Jacob managed to get the cables connected correctly. And without a blow-out. Michael brought the remote controls over to Dean, turning both machines on and off from across the room to make sure they would work.

"Here." He handed the controls to Dean.

"Thanks, dude." Dean put the remotes down next to him on the bed. "That's going to save me from Oprah."

"We forgot the movies," Jake suddenly realized. "I'll go..."

"You can bring them later. I think Dean's going to need to rest for awhile. He can call us when he's awake, and then you boys can bring him a few, OK?"

There seemed to be general agreement to this plan.

"Alright, then. Boys, y'all have chores that need to get done, so why don't we let Dean get some sleep."

Michael and Jake raised their hands in farewell, and headed for the door. Tommy moved from his aunt to Dean. He reached out, wrapping his arms around the startled man in the bed.

"I hope you feel better," he said.

Dean leaned forward and returned the hug gingerly. "Thanks," he said softly.

Tommy turned and ran out of the room. "See you later," he called over his shoulder.

Sam's eyes followed Tommy and then went to Jo. She walked over to Dean and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Rest and fluids, the doctor said. I'll pick up the prescription later today."

"How much?" Dean asked.

"I'll add it to the tab," she said, not wanting to get into with him. She was wary of telling the boys that the doctor hadn't charged for the visit. _Pride_.

She was familiar with that particular sin.

Dean nodded, glancing at Sam, who gave him a wry smile.

"I'm going to get Gatorade and some other things while I'm in town. Do you want anything else?"

There was a pause, and then Sam said, "7-Up and saltines?"

A tired smile lit Dean's face when he looked over at his brother, and he started to laugh weakly.

"Dude, don't," he gasped, breath rattling. A round of coughing tore through him.

Jo reached out to steady Dean, offering him some water. Sam surged forward.

"Dean..."

Dean took the glass with a trembling hand as the coughing calmed, shaking his head at his brother.

"It's OK. I'm OK," he whispered, taking small sips.

"I didn't mean..."

Dean rolled his eyes, even as he struggled to suppress the cough he still felt tickling deep in his chest. "I know you didn't, Sammy."

Jo kept a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. Wanting to dispel the tension that was suddenly palpable again in the room, Jo ventured, "7-Up and saltines?"

Sam was focused so intently on Dean that he didn't seem to have heard the question. Dean looked at Sam, and when he realized Sam wasn't going to answer, said, "That was Dad's all-purpose remedy whenever we were sick. It got to be kind of a joke."

Dean was trying to redirect Sam's attention. "Right, Sammy?" Dean poked his brother with a finger, breaking Sam's concentration.

"Sorry?" Sam blinked at Dean.

"Remember the time you had chicken pox, Sammy?" Dean asked with surprising gentleness, teasing.

Sam was still staring at his brother, pale, but he smiled as he remembered.

"Yeah."

"What happened?" Jo asked.

"You were what, nine, Sammy?" Dean grinned at Jo. "We were staying in this pretty run-down place, while Dad was on a job, and Sammy started getting sick. But we didn't want to tell Dad because things had been really tight and this was the first gig Dad had had for awhile, so I just kept buying box after box of crackers and bottle after bottle of 7-Up and forcing them down Sammy's throat thinking he would get better because that was what Dad always did."

The two brothers were grinning at each other. Jo was a little appalled.

"When did your father figure it out?"

Sam snorted. "When I ralphed 7-Up and saltines all over him one night."

Dean was actually giggling, the wheeze threatening again. "And the bright red welts all over your face may have tipped him off, too."

Sam laughed out loud. "Good times."

"Okaaaaaaaay." _Men._

Jo stood. "7-Up and crackers coming up."

"Thanks." Dean's eyes were exhausted and he sagged against the pillows again.

Jo leaned over and adjusted the covers around him. "You should rest, sweetheart. Do you want to lie down? Or would you be more comfortable sitting up?" Dean started to slide down, and Jo pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. She smoothed a hand over his hair, and Dean's eyes slid closed.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but is there anything else?"

"Macaroni and cheese?" Dean asked sleepily.

"What?"

Dean opened one eye.

"Jake said you'd make me whatever I wanted," he said slyly.

Sam smothered a guffaw, eyes going to Jo.

 _These two,_ she thought.

Dear God, she loved them.

"Mac and cheese, it is."

* * *

Dean's recovery was a slow, painful process. Between the two of them Jo and Sam kept him hydrated, medicated and in bed for the better part of seven days. The "in bed" part had been the most problematic, especially as the week had progressed. The better he felt, the ornerier Dean had gotten, snapping and snarling at both of them when they'd insisted that he rest.

Jo had been better able to deal with the attitude than Sam, who had been reduced to an almost incoherent rage a couple of times, barely able to keep from strangling his brother while he slept.

Even Jo had resorted to thrusting innocents into the lion's den on a few occasions. Tommy was the easiest to use—primarily because Dean's unlimited patience with the boy seemed to make him immune from the outbursts that resulted from Dean's frustration. Jo had even had Tommy take Dean's temperature one afternoon after he'd bitten her head off for asking about it that morning. Tommy's report had been encouraging. 99.5.

Jo tended to be pretty tolerant of grumpy, sick boys. That tolerance was going to end abruptly when this one's temperature dropped below 99.

"Knock, knock," she tapped gently on the door as she pushed it open.

Tommy and Dean were sitting propped against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles. Tommy was tucked against Dean's side, and Dean had an arm draped over Tommy's shoulders.

"What are y'all doing?"

"I'm reading." Tommy looked up from the book on his lap.

"Oh, yeah?" Jo walked into the room. "What are you reading?"

"Magic Tree House."

"Ah." Tommy's favorite series.

She looked at Dean. "What do you think?"

"Pretty good," he acknowledged. "Tommy reads a good story."

'Yes, he does. I love it when he reads to me."

She paused.

"How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

She picked up the thermometer off the bedside table. She held it, looking at him expectantly.

Dean looked down at Tommy, who smiled up at him, climbing onto his knees so that he could watch the procedure. Sighing, Dean tilted his head, giving Jo access to his ear.

The thermometer beeped. 98.7—close enough to normal to free him.

She showed it to him.

Dean gaped. "Really?" He looked at her, eyes wide. "Under 99, right? I'm well, right? I can leave the room now, right?"

She smiled, and Dean poised to spring out of the bed.

"Wait." He froze, brows drawing into a scowl at being thwarted.

"You still need to take it easy."

"I'm fine!" It burst from him almost at a shout. "I don't have a temperature any more! You said..."

Jo pointed a long finger at him. "You best mind that tone with me, Dean Winchester," she said with a snap.

Dean's own mouth closed on a snap as well, shock registering on his features. Tommy was watching solemnly.

"When you're all better, Aunt Jo yells again," he informed Dean.

Dean's eyes went from Tommy to Jo, who was staring at him expressionlessly. "She does?"

"Uh, huh."

Dean eased back onto the bed. Jo could see the restlessness and frustration boiling just under the surface, but he controlled it. "When can I get up?" he asked coldly.

"You're a grown man, Dean. You can get up whenever you want."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"All I wanted to say was that you're better now, but you're still not at full-strength. You're going to need to be careful not to make yourself sick again." She gave him a level look, and he nodded his understanding.

"And I might add that your brother has taken a lot of crap from you the last couple of days." She raised an eyebrow at him. "He's been pretty patient with you, but be warned that the reservoir is pretty shallow right now." The _young man_ was implicit in her tone.

Dean swallowed, something in his eyes shifting.

He nodded, standing stiffly.

"I'm sorry," he said gruffly, head bowed. He watched her carefully through his eyelashes.

Jo blinked.

 _Good Lord_ , she thought, momentarily distracted. _Does he know what that does to a woman?_ A small smile started on Dean's face, and Jo almost snorted. _Of course he does._

_Scamp._

She shook her head at him.

"You're forgiven," she said blandly. "Try that with your brother, please?"

Dean's head came up, a grin splitting his thin face. "Do I have to say the actual words?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said emphatically, at least partially for the benefit of the small ears attached to the other boy in the room.

Dean shrugged and started for the door. "Where _is_ Sam?"

"Next door, I think."

He was almost past her when he paused, turning awkwardly. He took a step to her, and hesitantly put his arms around her. "Thank you," he said softly.

Jo, accustomed to sudden, unpredictable hugs from the males around her, didn't miss a beat. She returned the embrace, careful not to hold on too long.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, brushing a light kiss against his cheek. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

When he pulled away, Dean stopped, meeting Jo's eyes with a shy, aching look that almost took her breath away, it was so filled with emotion and longing. She was staggered.

But before she could react, Dean's eyes dropped and he ducked his head, quickly leaving the room.

Overwhelmed, Jo stood frozen, putting an unsteady hand to her heart.

"Mama?" A light touch on her elbow.

"Yeah, baby?" She shook herself and dropped her hand to the bright head next to her.

"Can Dean and Sam live with us forever?"

Jo felt her throat tighten painfully.

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she said, her voice thick, smiling down at Tommy. "But, honey, I don't think they can. They have a daddy and a life that they're going to want to get back to eventually."

"I don't want them to go." His voice was muffled, face pressed into her waist.

"I know, baby. I don't either."

She held him, rubbing her hand over his back. They stood still until Tommy moved restlessly.

"Help me strip the bed, pumpkin-head?" She took his chin in her hand and gave a gentle shake.

He sniffed.

"OK."

* * *

Dean opened the door and walked into the room. Sam was sitting on the floor, carefully painting the baseboard.

"Hey."

Sam turned. "Hey!" His face registered first pleasure, then worry, then disapproval as he looked up at his brother.

"What are you doing? Does Jo know you're out of bed?" He was struggling to his feet, a frown darkening his features.

Dean took a couple of steps back, raising his hands. "Dude, relax. She knows. She sprung me."

"Really?" Pleasure again. Then suspicion. "Really?"

"Yeah, man. My temp's under 99. I'm clear."

"Dude!" Sam crossed the space between them in two long strides. "That's awesome!"

"Yeah." Dean leaned away, eyeing his brother suspiciously. His hands stayed up. "You're not going to try to hug me or anything?"

"Nah." Sam rocked back. But he was grinning like an idiot. "That's just really great news."

"Yeah," Dean said a little abashedly. He stepped to the side and looked around the room. "Sam, you've done a great job."

Sam beamed. "Yeah. Well. Without you around to get in my way..."

Dean grinned at him. He walked across the room, taking in the changes and the improvements. He stopped at the bookshelves. Sam joined him.

"We made a good team on those," Dean said.

"Don't kid yourself. _You_ did a great job on those," Sam said. He smiled as he turned to his brother. "I just did what you drew."

Amazingly, Dean felt his face grow hot at the praise from Sam. He shook his head. "You're the one who..."

Sam laughed, clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder. "...did nothing," he finished. "They were your plans, Dean. I just executed them." He smiled over at his brother. "Jo's been really pleased with how things turned out."

Sam gave his brother's shoulder a firm squeeze and dropped his hand. He walked back to his previous position. Long legs folded under him as he dropped to the floor.

"You should go over and look at 13. We just need to put the carpet in and then move the furniture back in, and we'll be done." Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean.

"That close." Dean said it quietly.

Sam shrugged. "Pretty much." He scanned the room they were in. "I give this one another couple of days."

Dean nodded. He trailed after Sam, coming to a stop next to him. He lowered himself slowly to the floor.

"You OK?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Just, you know, checking on your work." Dean was tired already and that sucked.

Sam nodded, eyeing Dean speculatively. The slightly concerned look, tempered by a smirk told Dean that Sam suspected the truth.

"You missed a spot," Dean said, pointing.

* * *

Dean's phone rang just as they were starting dinner. It startled everyone, and while there was a muttered, "No phones at the dinner table," from one of the boys, the look Jo gave him was one of surprise, not censure.

"Sorry," he mumbled, digging into his pocket. He only kept it with him out of habit; it hadn't rung in days. He glanced at the caller ID. Not a number he recognized. He looked over at Sam, who was watching him quizzically.

"Excuse me," Dean said, getting up from the table.

"Hello?"

"Dean?"

"Dad?" Dean's voice cracked. "Are you OK? Where are you?" He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and over, and Sam was suddenly at his side.

"Is he alright?" Sam, anxious beside him.

"I'm fine, Dean. Where are you boys? Why aren't you in Flagstaff?"

"Flagstaff? What...?"

"I sent you coordinates a week ago. Why haven't you...?"

"Coordinates...?" Dean looked at Sam, whose face flamed.

"I forgot," he whispered. "You were sick, I just..."

Dean shook his head at his brother, a range of emotions churning inside—embarrassment that his illness had caused them to fail their father, frustration that Sam had let it, understanding at why Sam had, and, underneath it all, a pit of realization that their time here was over.

"Dad, I'm sorry, we..."

"Goddamn it, Dean! If I can't count on you two to follow orders and go where I tell you to go, people are going to die. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir." Dean's head went down. He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes as his father continued to berate him. "Yes, sir, I know." He glanced over at Sam.

Sam's eyes had narrowed as he listened to Dean's responses to the harsh, angry voice he could hear coming through the line.

"Tell him you were sick," he demanded. Dean jerked his head, rejecting that idea. "Tell him I was sick then," he said. "He should know that we didn't just ignore him, Dean. Don't let him yell at you for something that wasn't your fault." Sam's fierce whisper thrummed with frustration—with their father, with Dean himself.

Dean felt stretched between the two of them, unable to live up to either of their expectations or demands. He let both of their voices roll over him, waiting for a break when he could get the conversation back to the matter at hand. Flagstaff.

Suddenly, the phone was snatched from his hand. "Sam!"

"Dean was _sick_ , OK, Dad? It's _my_ fault we're not where we're supposed to be." Sam's voice was getting louder, deepening in his anger. "The coordinates came, Dean was coughing his freaking _lungs_ up, and I _forgot_! OK? I forgot!" Sam was in full yell now, heedless of Dean's attempts to calm him. Dean reached around Sam, getting a grip on the phone while Sam was focused on John.

It didn't take much to wrest the cell out of his brother's hand. Sam was apparently distracted enough by the opportunity to scream at their father one more time that he didn't put up much of a fight. But the activity still left Dean breathless. And on the verge of a coughing fit.

"Dad, I'm sorry, he..."

"You were sick?" John's tone had changed radically. "It must have been bad, if you were willing to admit it." His father said wryly, but there was worry there as well. _Damn Sam._

"I'm fine," Dean said, with a glare at his brother, who matched him with one of his own.

"What was it? Are you OK?"

"It wasn't anything, Dad..."

"It was pneumonia," Sam said loudly, trying to speak into the phone his brother was holding. "And it was bad."

"Pneumonia? Son..."

Dean elbowed Sam sharply in the gut, smiling grimly at the grunt of pain behind him. He shouldered his younger brother aside.

"Dad, really. I'm OK now. I'm sorry we didn't get there. We can go. We'll leave tomorrow."

"I've already taken care of it."

Dean felt the blow like a punch. "Dad, I'm sorry."

"Dean," John's voice was pitched low. "Son, it's not your fault. You were sick. That happens." There was a long pause, and Dean tried to figure out what response was expected of him. "Put your brother back on the phone." Nothing evidently.

"Dad..."

"Now, Dean." Dean's jaw tightened, but he handed the phone to his brother.

Face wary, Sam took it.

"Yeah?"

Sam's eyes went to the floor immediately. "Yeah." Pause. "Yeah." Pause. "Me, too." His face lost its tight, angry look, and as he continued to listen, his eyes came up to Dean's.

"A lot better." He listened for a moment. "He's still coughing some, and he gets tired pretty easily." Dean felt his ears get hot. _God DAMN, it!_ He took a menacing step toward his brother, but Sam fended him off with an upraised hand and a serious expression.

"Yes, sir." Pause. "No, sir." A longer pause. "Yes, sir, I will."

Sam handed the phone back to Dean.

Dean took it with a scowl.

"Yes, sir?"

"You boys stay put for a few more days. Until you're completely well."

Silence.

"Do you hear me, Dean?"

"Yes."

Dean could actually hear the amusement in his father's voice at the petulance Dean had been unable to suppress. "Be smart, kiddo. If you're not a hundred percent, you're putting yourself and your brother in danger. You know that."

Dean sighed. "Yeah."

"Good."

"Dad, where...?"

"I'll call in a couple of days."

And he was gone.

Slowly, Dean closed his cell phone.

"He'll call."

"Did he say where...?"

Dean cut him off. "No," he said sharply and headed back into the kitchen.

Four sets of eyes followed the Winchester brothers from the mudroom to the table.

"Everything alright?" Jo asked gently.

Dean nodded as he sat down. "Sorry to interrupt dinner."

"That's fine."

Sam had trailed behind and just picked up his plate and took it to the counter.

"I'm not very hungry," he said. Dean started eating.

Jo's eyes went from one to the other. "That's fine, honey. I'll put in the fridge if you want it later."

Sam nodded, eyes on Dean. "Thanks," he said softly. "Good-night."

Dean felt his shoulders tighten when the door shut behind his brother. He knew the entire family was watching him, but he ignored them, willing no one to ask him a question.

"Why was Sam yelling?" Tommy asked tremulously.

"Tommy." Dean saw her shake her head at her youngest nephew before sending Dean an apologetic smile.

Dean shrugged, returning his attention to his meal.

He ate like an automaton, determined to get through dinner as if nothing was wrong.

But even as he moved his fork from plate to mouth in a steady rhythm, he could feel his control starting to slip.

The humiliation of having his weakness exposed to his father, Sam's anger and disapproval, his father's distance, the lingering effects of his illness, and the knowledge that he and Sam would be leaving soon, combined with the concerned sympathy of the four people sitting around the table, watching him worriedly, was about to undo him completely.

He knew, he _knew_ , that if Jo said anything at all, he'd be finished. But retreat seemed too obvious, so he held his ground, intent on finishing his meal and maintaining some sort of dignity before he slunk off to lick his wounds.

Dinner was finished in complete silence until the boys, getting up slowly to clear the table were dismissed by their aunt.

"I'll get the dishes tonight, boys. Go on upstairs."

Dean continued to sit, eyes fixed on his now empty plate, but unable to move even as the boys clattered out of the kitchen without a word.

Jo stood, picking up her plate. She was still for a long moment.

"Give me a hand?"

Dean brought his head up, meeting her eyes, feeling the emotion he was trying to hold back begin to force its way free. But she just smiled, holding out a plate to him. He swallowed hard as he took it from her.

"Sure."

They worked without speaking, and Dean felt the tension start to ease, listening to the pieces of whatever tune Jo was singing under her breath, the sounds of the kids upstairs, the hum of the ancient refrigerator. There was comfort in taking care of the every day things, in working beside someone, in doing something as simple as the dishes. Dean felt himself settle. _Normal_ , he thought in wonder. _Safe._

After they finished, Dean pulled Sam's plate out of the fridge. "I'll take this to him."

She turned away from sink, drying her hands in a gesture that suddenly reminded Dean of that first night in her kitchen.

"Can I do anything?" she asked. There was worry in her gaze and what he'd begun to recognize as love. The phone conversation she'd overheard clearly concerned her.

Dean shook his head. "No." He took a deep breath. "Thanks, though." He paused. "That was Dad."

She looked at him. "I figured."

"What gave it away?" He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Sam's yelling was pretty clear," she said wryly. "Is..." she hesitated, "Is you dad OK?"

His eyes met hers and then shifted way. "Yeah, he's fine." And then apologetically, "It's complicated."

Jo nodded, letting it go, and Dean was grateful for the understanding.

"We're going to have to leave soon," he said softly.

"I know." He could see that she still had questions, but she didn't ask. She wouldn't expect answers of him that somehow she knew he wouldn't or couldn't give.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

Dean nodded. "Good-night."

* * *

The morning they left was crisp and clear.

Sam slammed the trunk of the Impala, and Jo handed him a huge brown paper bag.

She cleared her throat. "I, uh, made y'all some food for the road."

Sam opened the top and peered in, walking toward the front of the car. "Wow." He stopped by the passenger door and grinned at her in amazement. "Jo, this is wonderful. Thank you."

He rolled the top of the bag down, putting it on the front seat. He turned toward her and stepped forward, engulfing her in a hug. "Thank you so much for everything," he said.

Jo clung to him for a moment. She sniffed as she stepped away.

"Take care of your brother," she said softly.

He nodded, eyes serious. "I will."

Jo looked over at Dean, watching him say good-bye to her nephews. He shook hands with Michael, slapping him on the back, making the boy laugh with some quiet comment.

Next came Jacob. Jake stood next to his older brother, and he, too, held out his hand for Dean to shake. Dean took it, shaking it firmly before he pulled the boy in for a brief hug, ruffling his hair and punching him playfully. Jacob emerged, flustered, but laughing, shoving at Dean.

There was no handshake for Tommy who threw his arms around Dean, burying his face in Dean's jacket. Dean crouched down next to the boy, putting himself at eye level with Tommy. He talked softly, just for Tommy, who listened with his head bowed. Tommy tilted forward, putting his arms around Dean's neck, and Jo could see the emotion on Dean's face as he pulled the boy close. He stood, still holding Tommy, adjusting the weight in his arms as he walked over to Jo and Sam.

"I've got something attached to my neck, Sam, can you see what it is?" Dean's arms came from around Tommy, who continued to cling to Dean, legs dangling. Jo heard a snort of laughter buried in Dean's shoulder.

"Dude, that's serious," Sam reached out, hands under Tommy's arm pits. "Let me see what I can do." And he dug in his fingers, tickling.

Tommy released with a shriek, and Sam tossed him high, swinging him around and throwing him over his shoulder. "There. That's got it." Tommy continued to giggle as Sam moved to the other boys, hands around Tommy's ankles, lowering him slowly to the ground over his back.

"They're going to miss you two," Jo said with a smile.

Dean looked at her for a long moment, struggling with what to say. He fought the urge to say something quippy, something that would help him re-establish distance. But he couldn't get out the words.

Dean felt the ache in the back of his throat and tried to clear it. "They're cool kids."

Jo nodded, watching him, eyes soft.

"You're a good man, Dean Winchester," she said quietly.

Dean's breath caught in his throat as Jo reached out a hand, pressing her palm gently against his cheek. "Your mother would be proud."

To his horror, Dean felt tears start behind his eyelids. Reading the look on his face, Jo laughed out loud, her own tears falling, and she pulled him into a hard, fierce hug.

"You and Sam will _always_ have a home here," she whispered. She tightened her embrace around him. "You remember that, Dean. _Always_."

Dean pressed his face into her neck, nodding.

"Thank you." His voice was rough, tight with emotion. He took a moment, and then put his hands on her shoulders, moving her gently away. He smiled at her—not one of the smiles she'd seen from him before, guarded or cocky or smug. This smile was genuine, open and warm. And it was beautiful to behold.

"You ready?"

Sam asked it quietly behind him, the three boys moving close to Jo even as Sam joined his brother.

"Yeah."

Sam and Dean climbed into the car, Dean behind the steering wheel, Sam folding long legs into the passenger seat. They both rolled down their windows. Dean put the car in reverse, backing out of the parking space. Slowly, Dean straightened the car, pointing the nose toward the open road. He stopped, looking over at Sam, who was talking to the boys, teasing them as he leaned partially out the window. Sam turned back to his brother, and caught Dean's glance. He nodded.

"Y'all stand back," Sam said, pushing at Jacob and Tommy who were running next to the car, fingers trailing along the side. He lifted a hand to Jo, standing with an arm around Michael a few yards away.

They raised their hands as well, and with one last glance, Dean put the car in drive and pulled away.

_The End._


End file.
